The Dragon's Blood and The Philosopher's Stone
by pokecharmer007
Summary: Faith 'Lilian' Potter was your average girl, living a miserable life with her relatives. Until a large man came towards her and told her of the Wizarding World, Faith's life is bound to turn upside down.
1. The Girl Who Lived

A/N: Before I start the chapter, I would like to say a few words. I'm sure most of you readers out there knows who ScottXXC is, right? And some of you have read his stories, right? You must be wondering why one of his stories kept going on and off like that. Well, it seems he had a bit of trouble with the reviews he had been getting on his story called "Trick or Treat?"

Now I would like to make something clear here. And I don't want any of you thinking I'm rude or this is rubbish or whatever. It's my personal opinion and it's to ease his mind a bit. Though you have to mind my language since I tend to say 'colorful' words when I'm a bit annoyed.

(Clears Throat)

**You motherf-ing bitches think you're all that, is it? You think you can come down here and start bashing at people's work, huh? How would you feel if someone writes hurtful comments about you like "Don't rewrite the movie" or "Stop messing with the story line" or even "This story stinks to high heavens!"**

**You want that?! This website is meant for us readers and writers to enjoy writing and reading each other's work, and not to bash! If you want to bash, why not bash real authors' works then! You think we appreciate hurtful reviews like that! Do you know how hard we work to write our stories and even publish it out for all of you to read?**

**I know you're going to start bashing me about "This person so rude!" You might be thinking you're giving useful comments, pointing out our flaws and trying to give us inspiration and motivation to make our stories better. Yes, I totally agree on that! But that does not give you the right to give such hurtful comments to others about how they should write their stories.**

**I mean, come on! I have my way to write. You have your way to write. We have our ways to write. Everyone have their ways to write!**

**I also want to emphasize on the "Don't rewrite the movie!"**

**You think you're our mother, is it? Or you own fanfiction, is it? Have you read any other stories or not? How many people actually rewrite animes, games, cartoons, even books? A lot, right? I'm also one of them, ok? If the stories are against the rules, they shouldn't be appearing on the site, shouldn't they? I read the rules, and I don't f-ing see a 'Rewriting a genre, be it a movie or a book, is prohibited.'**

**I'm going to repeat myself; this here is fanfiction! That means everything we write and read are not even linked to the real thing! They're all of our imagination and creation in words! Understand the motto: Unleash your imagination!**

**I'm going to make this clear! If you think you can be all high and mighty writing flaming reviews to us writers, one of these days, I repeat, ONE of these days, you're going to meet the same fate. THEN, you'll know how we feel.**

**Kapish!**

(Clears Throat)

Ok, now that's over. Let's roll the chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

~Chapter 1: The Girl Who Lived~

Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache.

Mrs Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small (for now, anyway) son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs Potter was Mrs Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the potters had a small child, too, a daughter, but they had never even seen her. This girl was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with a child like that.

When Mr and Mrs Dursley woke up on the dull, grey Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work and Mrs Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair, which was a very hard job, as Dudley was abnormally fat for a one year old.

None of them noticed a large tawny owl flutter past the window.

At half past eight, Mr Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs Dursley on the cheek and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls.

"Little tyke," chortled Mr Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number hour's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar – a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr Dursley didn't realize what he had seen – then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said _Privet Drive_ – no, _looking_ at the sign; cats couldn't read maps _or_ signs. Mr Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind by something else. As he drove towards town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help but noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes – the get-ups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt – these people were obviously collecting for something... yes, that would be it, The traffic moved on, and a few minutes later, Mr Dursley arrived in the Grunnings car park, his mind back on drills.

Mr Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. _He_ didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at night-time. Mr Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, if not a bit boring, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunch-time, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the baker's opposite.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This lot were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard – "

'- yes, their daughter, Faith – '

Mr Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking ... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a daughter called Faith. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his niece _was_ called Faith. He'd never even seen the girl. It might have been Valda. Or Fiona. There was no point in worrying Mrs Dursley, she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her – if _he'd _had a sister like that ... but all the same, those people in cloaks...

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon, and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr Dursley realized the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground.

On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passers-by stare: "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

And the old man hugged Mr Dursley around the middle, well around the belly actually, as the middle was too large, and walked off.

Mr Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw – and it didn't improve his mood – was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr Dursley loudly.

The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior Mr Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley learnt a new word "Shan't". Mr Dursley tried to act normally.

When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living-room in time to catch the last report on the evening news: "And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern."The news reader allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showered of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Ted." said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early – it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters...

Mrs Dursley came into the living-room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er – Petunia, dear – you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

As he had expected Mrs Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, she normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No," she said sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."

"_So?_" snapped Mrs Dursley.

"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... _her_ _lot_."

Mrs Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name 'Potter'. He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their daughter – she'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't she?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs Dursley stiffly.

"What's her name again? Faye, isn't it?"

"Faith. Freakish, weird name, if you asked me." she commented. "I mean, what kind of parent named their child 'Faith' of all things?"

"Oh, yes," said Mr Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it was waiting for something.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did... if it got out that they were related to a pair of – well, he didn't think he could bear it.

The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters _were_ involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind... He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on. He yawned and turned over. It couldn't affect _them_...

How very wrong he was.

Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots were unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him.

He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again—the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh, yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no—even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls...shooting stars...Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent—I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumours."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something ,but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really _has_ gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A _what_?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she din't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who _has_ gone—"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense—for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: _Voldemort._" Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, semed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know-oh, all right,_Voldemort_, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too—well—_noble_ to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the _rumors_ that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're _saying_," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is the Lily and James Potter are—are—that they're—_dead_."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know... I know..." he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potters' daughter, Faith. But—he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little girl. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Marlene Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke—and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's—it's _true_?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... All the people he's killed... he couldn't kill a little girl? It's just astounding... Of all the things to stop him... But how in the name of heaven did little Faith survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers' instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "He'd just—just brought Faith to Madam Pomfrey... I don't suppose you're going to tell me _why _you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Faith to her aunt and uncle. They're the only family she has left now."

"You don't mean—you _can't_ mean the people who live _here_?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore—you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son—I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Faith Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for her," said Dumbledore firmly. "Her aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to her when she's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand her! She'll be famous—a legend—I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Marlene Potter Day in the future—there will be books written about her—every child in our world will know her name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any child's head. Famous before she can walk and talk! Famous for something she won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off she'll be, growing up away from all that until she's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes—yes, you're right, of course. But at least, allow me to explain to Petunia...I remember her now, from when I delivered Lily's letter. And—but—how is the girl getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Faith underneath it.

"Very well, if you insist, Minerva," he nodded. "Hagrid's bringing her."

"Good. Thank you. You think it—_wise_—to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to—what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky—and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so _wild_—long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the side of trash can lids ,and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got her, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir—house was almost destroyed, but I got her out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. She fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol, stayed asleep all through Madam Pomfrey's examination."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby girl, fast asleep. A tuft of light-reddish hair stuck out of the scalps as little Faith snoozed away, unaware of the happenings. They could see a small bandage on her left temple; Dumbledore removed it to see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where—?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "She'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Madam Pomfrey's got it healing—but even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well—give her here, Hagrid—we'd best get this over with."

Dumbledore took Faith in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.

"Could I—could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Faith and gave her what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "You'll wake the Muggles!" By that, she meant the other Muggles in the neighborhood, not the Dursleys—as she was planning to wake them herself in a few minutes.

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it—Lily an' James dead—an' poor little Faith off ter live with Muggles—"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm. Dumbledore laid Faith gently in her arms, took a letter out of his cloak and tucked it inside Faith's blankets, then stood back by Hagrid. For a full minute, the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "That's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'd best get this bike away. G'night, Professor McGonagall—Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall sniffed sadly in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Faith," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Faith 'Lilian' Potter rolled over inside her blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside her and she slept on, not knowing she was special, not knowing she was famous, not knowing she would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that she would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by her cousin Dudley…

She couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Faith Potter — the girl who lived!"


	2. The Vanishing Glass

~Chapter 2: The Vanishing Glass~

* * *

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up in the middle of the night to find their niece on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets—but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother.

The room held no sign at all that a girl lived in the house, too.

Yet Faith 'Lilian' Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Her Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Faith woke with a start. Her aunt rapped on the door again.

"Up!" she screeched. Faith heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. She rolled onto her back and tried to remember the dream she had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. She had a funny feeling she'd had the same dream before.

Her aunt was back outside the door.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Yes," said Faith in a soft whisper. Living with her relatives was anything but rainbows and unicorns. Abused almost everyday can do a lot to a child and it had caused her to become timid and shy.

"Well, get a move on, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."

Faith sighed.

"What did you say?" her aunt snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing…"

Dudley's birthday—how could she have forgotten? Faith got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. She found a pair under her bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Faith was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where she slept. She didn't mind, though.

When she was dressed, she went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not the mention the second television and racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Faith, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise—unless of course it involved punching somebody.

Dudley's favorite punching bag was Faith, or it would have been, if he could ever catch her. She didn't look it, but she was very fast.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Faith had always been small and skinny for her age. She looked even smaller and skinnier than she really was because all she had to wear were old clothes of Dudley's, and Dudley was about four times bigger than she.

Faith had a thin face, knobbly knees, light-reddish hair, and central heterochromia eyes; bright green eyes with a ring of sky-blue around her iris. She had worn round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had tripped her and she'd fallen on her face, but strangely her vision had improved tremendously for the past two years so she stopped wearing them, much to her delight and Dudley's dismay since he couldn't make fun of them anymore, though that didn't stopped him from making fun of her weird eyes. There were two things Faith liked about her appearance: her different-colored eyes, and a very thin scar on her left temple that was shaped like a bolt of lightning.

She had it as long as she could remember, and the first question she could ever remember asking her Aunt Petunia was how she had gotten it.

"In the car crash with your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions."

**Don't ask questions**—that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Faith was flipping the omelets.

"Braid your hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Faith needed a haircut. She must have had more haircuts than the rest of the girls in her class put together, but it made no difference, her hair simply grew that way—straight-down to her waist.

Faith was frying bacon by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon, except for his face, which looked as much like a horse as Petunia's did: he had not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel—Faith often thought, since she couldn't trust herself to keep her mouth shut around them, that he looked like a pig in a wig.

Faith put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.

"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

She rolled her eyes. Of course he'll notice the numbers of present he'll be getting. He always do.

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present. See, it's here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face. Faith, who had been watching by the sink as she was drinking, stood a fair distance away in case Dudley turned the table over... again.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?"

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty…thirty…"

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia. Faith inwardly snorted.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled.

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.

At that moment, the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Faith and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take her." She jerked her head in Faith's direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Faith's heart gave a leap.

Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the cinema. Every year, she was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Don't get her wrong; she likes the kind old lady and her cats but there's the problem where the whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made her look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Faith as if she'd planned this. She shrunk slightly at her gaze.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the girl."

The Dursleys often spoke about Faith like this, as though she wasn't there—or rather, as though she was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend—Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"You could just leave me here," Faith softly put in hopefully, she'd be able to watch what she wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley's computer.

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"I won't blow up the house," said Faith, but they weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take her to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "…and leave her in the car…"

"That car's new, she's not sitting in it alone..."

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying—it had been years since he'd really cried—but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let her spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.

Faith resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the crocodile tears.

"I…don't…want…her…t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "She always sp-spoils everything!" He shot Faith a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms. Seeing that, Faith felt the urge to growl fiercely at him but she held it down.

Just then, the doorbell rang—"Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically—and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Faith, who couldn't believe her luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in her life. Her aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with her, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Faith aside.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Faith's, making her step back a bit, "I'm warning you now, girl—any funny business, anything at all—and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything," said Faith, "Really…"

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe her. No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around her and it was just no good telling the Dursleys she didn't make them happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Faith coming back from the hairdresser's looking as though she hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut her hair very short and uneven except for her bangs, which she left "to hide that horrible scar." Dudley had laughed himself silly at her, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where she was already laughed at for her baggy clothes. Next morning, however, she had gotten up to find her hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. She had been given a week in her cupboard for this, even though she had tried to explain that she couldn't explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force her into a revolting old sweater of Dudley's (brown with orange puff balls). The harder she tried to pull it over Faith's head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Faith. She's not that small, is she? Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to her great relief, Faith wasn't punished.

On the other hand, she'd gotten in terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley's gang had been chasing her as usual when, as much to Faith's surprise as anyone else's, there she was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Faith's headmistress telling them she had been climbing school buildings. But all she'd tried to do, as she shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of her cupboard, was that she had jumped behind the big rubbish bins outside the kitchen doors. Faith supposed that the wind must have caught her in mid-jump.

Though that wasn't the end; she was always told off by the Dursley's on how she won't make any friends, considering how freakish she is, but she hadn't the heart and courage to tell them that she actually made some... just not normal ones. That's one of the reason she was okay with sleeping with spiders and why she likes Mrs. Figg's cats, since they're her companions.

She wasn't sure why but she had this special bond with animals; whenever she felt sad or gloomy, birds and small critters would come up to her to cheer her up. When she's in need of a companion, butterflies and other bugs would buzz and flutter around her.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, her cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Marlene, the council, Marlene, the bank, and Marlene were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.

"…roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

Faith kept a stiff beak, not wanting to say anything about her dream of a flying motorcycle. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than her asking questions, it was her talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even in a cartoon—they seemed to think she might get dangerous ideas.

It was a very sunny Saturday and families crowded the zoo. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Faith what she wanted before they could hurry her away, they bought her a cheap lemon ice pop. It wasn't bad, either, she thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla who looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn't blond.

She giggled at that thought. She waved goodbye to the ape when the Dursley's weren't looking. The ape waved back, shocking a few spectators but luckily, they didn't know it was Faith who it was waving back.

Faith had the best morning she'd had in a long time. She was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting her. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his Knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Faith was allowed to finish the first.

She felt, afterward, that she should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch, they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crashing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can—but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Faith moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. She wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself—no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least she got to visit the rest of the house.

She glanced at a little sign next to the tank. "So you're a Boa Constrictor…I've read about you," she murmured.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Faith's.

It winked.

Faith giggled. Then she looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. She looked back at the snake and winked, too.

The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Faith a look that said quite plainly: "I get that all the time."

"I know," she murmured through the glass. "It must be really annoying."

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Faith asked.

The snake jabbed its tail toward the sign. Marlene peered at it, and nodded. "Brazil… Was it nice there?" She frowned as she read the next line: This specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I see—so you've never been to Brazil?"

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Faith made both of them jump. "DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.

Faith managed to get out of the way but in the process, tripped on own footing. Caught by surprise, Faith fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened—one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Faith sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and starting running for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past her, Faith heard a low, hissing voice say, "Brazil, here I come…Thanksss, Amiga."

She blinked; that was the first an animal talked to her...

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock. "But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?"

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Faith had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Faith at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, "Faith was talking to it, weren't you, Faith?"

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Faith. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go—cupboard—stay—no meals," before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

Faith sighed as she lay in her dark cupboard much later, wishing she had a watch. She didn't know what time it was and she couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, she couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food.

She'd lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as she could remember, ever since she'd been a baby and her parents had died in that car crash. She couldn't remember being in the car when her parents had died. Sometimes, when she strained her memory during long hours in her cupboard, she came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on her temple. This, she supposed, was the crash, though she couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. Her aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course she was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

When she had been younger, Faith had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take her away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were her only family. Yet sometimes she thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know her. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to her once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking Faith furiously if she knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at her once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken her hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Faith tried to get a closer look.

At school, Faith had no one. Everybody knew that Dudley's gang hated that odd Faith Potter in her baggy old boys' clothes, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley's gang. She only had her animal friends and books: in between classes, and sometimes after school when she could manage, she slipped into the school library and read. Reading fascinated her, filled her imagination with soaring castles and fire-breathing dragons and space ships and all sorts of wonderful, fantastic things. She thought she might like to write a book of her own, one day…perhaps about a flying motorcycle, and a blinding green light.


	3. The Letters From No One

~Chapter 3: The Letters From No One~

* * *

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Faith her longest-ever punishment. By the time she was allowed out of her cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches. Which she felt sorry for her.

Faith was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Faith Hunting.

This was why Faith spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where she could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came she would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in her life, she wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Faith, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," he told Faith. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No thanks," said Faith. "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it—it might be sick." Then she ran, before Dudley could work out what she'd said.

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Faith at Mrs. Figg's. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Faith watch television and gave her a bit of chocolate cake, which she refused since it looked as though she'd had it for several years.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

For what? Faith doesn't, or don't, want to know.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Faith, though, had to pretend to be drinking so as to hide her laugh.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Faith went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. She went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in grey water.

If she would have to guess; that would be her school uniform, no doubt made from Dudley's old clothes dyed in grey. She sighed as she sat down at the table and tried not to think about how she was going to look on her first day at Stonewall High—like she was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Faith's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Faith get it."

"Get the mail, Faith."

She didn't argue since she would probably be forced to anyways. She dodged the Smelting stick that was threatening to trip her on her way out, much to Dudley's dismay, and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and—a letter for Faith.

Faith picked it up and stared at it, her heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in her whole life, had written to her. Who would? She had no friends, no other relatives—she wasn't a member of the library, so she'd never even gotten rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

**Ms. F. Potter**

**The Cupboard under the Stairs**

**4 Privet Drive**

**Little Whinging**

**Surrey**

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp, which Faith thought strange.

Turning the envelope over, her hand trembling, Faith saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

"Hurry up, girl!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Now that she's out of their sight, Faith could roll her eyes in annoyance and went back to the kitchen, making sure the letter is out of their sight. She handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk…"

"Dad!" Dudley said suddenly. "Dad, Faith's got something!"

Faith, who had walked out of the kitchen to read her letter without the Dursley's knowing, was on the point of unfolding her letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of her hand by Uncle Vernon, surprising her.

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds, it was the grayish white of old porridge.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness—Vernon!"

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Faith and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

"I want to read that letter," he said loudly.

Faith wanted to object since it's hers but looking at her uncle's face told her she shouldn't.

"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

Faith had already moved outside while Dudley stayed put.

"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took Dudley by the scruffs of his neck and threw him into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind him. Faith could be laughing at Dudley if the situation wasn't so grave; what did the letter contain that it caused her aunt and uncle to behave strangely? Sure, they didn't let her in on anything but they could at least let her read what was hers in the first place. Dudley, after recovering from what just happened, listened at their conversation through the keyhole while Faith listened through the gap below the door.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address—how could they possibly know where she sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching—spying—might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write them back? Tell them we don't want—"

Faith could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer…Yes, that's best…we won't do anything…"

"But—"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took her in, we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

**XXXX**

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Faith in her cupboard.

"Where's my letter?" said Faith, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door, which was a remarkable feat, considering his size and the small doorway. "Who's writing to me?"

"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned it."

Faith nodded, not wanting to continue. "So... is there something you need?" If he didn't, why would he bother to visit her?

"Er—yes, Faith—about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking… you're really getting a bit big for it, and you're bound to start growing soon… We think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom."

"What?" said Faith. "Why? What about Dud—"

"Don't ask questions!" snapped her uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."

The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took Faith one trip upstairs to move everything she owned (which wasn't a lot) from the cupboard to this room. She sat down on the bed and stared around her. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favorite program had been cancelled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched.

From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, "I don't want her in there…I need that room…make her get out…"

Faith sighed and picked out a random book, then stretched out on the bed and started to read it. Yesterday, she'd have given anything to be up here. Today, she'd rather be back in her cupboard with that letter than up here without it.

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back. Faith, though shocked that her aunt and uncle didn't comply to his whining, was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing she'd opened the letter in her cupboard instead. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Faith, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's another one! 'Ms. F. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive—"

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, while Faith watched the exchange in both mild amusement and focus, in case either dropped the letter. Then after a minute of confused fighting, in which the two males got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Faith's letter clutched in his hand.

"Go to your cupboard—I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at Faith. "Dudley—go—just go."

Faith walked round and round her new room. Someone knew she had moved out of her cupboard and they seemed to know she hadn't received her first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time she'd make sure they didn't fail. She had a plan.

The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Faith turned it off quickly and dressed silently. She mustn't wake the Dursleys. She quietly walked downstairs without turning on any of the lights.

She was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first. Her heart hammered as she crept across the dark hall toward the front door... Then she stopped before squinting her eyes in the darkness. Faith was able to make out a lump on the floor before her eyes suddenly adjusted to the darkness.

When the strange happenings and her strange bond with animals weren't enough, Faith had discovered that she can see clearly in the dark... like an owl or a cat. It was one night, she had sneaked out of her cupboard so as to get a light midnight snack since the Dursley's had starved her for a week. She had been so sleepy that she didn't realized she hadn't bumped into anything in the kitchen as she walked towards the fridge. It was at that moment that Aunt Petunia decided to get a cup of warm tea that she screamed when she saw two glowing eyes in the shadows and fainted. Her scream had awaken Faith from her drowsiness before she carefully hid into her cupboard. Fortunately, Faith wasn't punished since there wasn't any evidence it was her that night since the glowing eyes were blue, whereas hers were green... though she was wise to keep her mouth close since they do have blue rings around her iris.

From that day on, Faith had some rare midnight excursions to the fridge and this is one of those nights, though for a different reason. But somebody seems to have a similar thinking.

Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Faith didn't do exactly what she'd been trying to do. Faith then decided to wait for the postman, without her uncle realizing she's up and about. It didn't take long for Faith to hear the mail slot to clink and the mail to arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's face which didn't wake him. She silently groaned at her bad luck before trying to snatch them.

But before she could do that—

"AAAAARRRGH!"

Faith leapt into the air and quickly looked down; she'd trodden over her uncle's hand. She, again, groaned at her bad luck.

He shouted at Faith for about half an hour and then told her to go back to bed. She did just that and caught a glimpse of her uncle tearing the letters into pieces.

**XXXX**

Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "If they can't deliver them, they'll just give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon,"

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Faith. As they couldn't go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.

Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he worked, and jumped at small noises.

If he weren't her uncle, she would have him shipped to a nearby mental hospital.

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Faith found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.

"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked Faith in amazement.

She just shrugged.

**XXXX**

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn letters today—"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys and Faith ducked, and Faith scrabbled on the floor, trying to grab one that had already landed—

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon seized Faith around the waist and threw her into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later, they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the back of his head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for awhile.

"Shake 'em off…shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

**XXXX**

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Faith shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Faith stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring at the dim lights of passing cars. A few spiders that had lived in the old motel had crawled up her arm and sat on her shoulder as she took out the letter she'd managed to pick up and read it.

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY**

**Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE**

**(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)**

**Dear Ms. Potter,**

**We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.**

**Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.**

**Yours sincerely,**

**Minerva**** McGonagall**

**Deputy Headmistress**

Questions exploded inside Faith's head like fireworks and her jaw dropped open. After a few minutes, she turned it over and saw a second piece of paper, which turned out to contain a list of books and supplies.

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY**

**UNIFORM**

**First-year students will require:**

**1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)**

**2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear**

**3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)**

**4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)**

**Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags**

**COURSE BOOKS**

**All students should have a copy of the each of the following:**

**The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk**

**A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot**

**Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling**

**A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch**

**One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore**

**Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger**

**Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander**

**The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble**

**OTHER EQUIPMENT**

**1 wand**

**1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)**

**1 set glass or crystal phials**

**1 telescope**

**1 set brass scales**

**Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad**

**PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS**

Is this some kind of joke? Or a way to advertise something? She couldn't believe it but then again, why would Uncle Vernon be so focused to make sure she doesn't read the letter? Magic can be real, can they? How else could letters end up inside of eggs than by magic? Then she realized something... Wouldn't all the strange things that had happened to her be considered magic? She turned to her animal friends and thought for a while.

Faith turned over the back of the first page and wrote a short letter on it to the Deputy Headmistress.

**Dear Deputy Headmistress,**

**I managed to finally read one of the letters you've been sending me. I can hardly believe it, but if Hogwarts is a real place, then I should very much like to go! Only, I don't have an owl, and how am I supposed to get all these school supplies? I don't have any money, you see. Could I borrow them from the school and pay for them once I have a job?**

(Faith didn't want to be beholden to anyone; years of Uncle Vernon complaining about "people on the dole" had made sure of that.)

**Please get back to me as soon as possible.**

**Signed,**

**Faith 'Lilian' Potter**

She folded it over, put it back in the envelope, and then crossed out her own name and wrote "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" instead. Hope this works…

Faith crept down the stairs of the dinky little hotel and to the front desk, where a bored-looking blonde sat idly twirling a slender stick between her fingers.

"Hello," said Faith quietly, "Any chance this could go out in the post tomorrow?"

She offered the envelope to the blonde, who looked at it curiously before breaking into a smile.

"Ah, got your 'Ogwarts letter, 'ave you? Brill. But, aintcha 'ad a visit from Professor McGonagall? She's the one 'at delivered mine." The blond stuck the stick behind one ear like a pencil, took the letter and set it down on the desk, then extended her hand to shake Faith's. She took a closer look and gasped. "Blimey—you're—I'm being chavvy, ain't I? I'm Donna…you ain't Faith Potter, are you?"

Faith, confused, shook the blonde's hand. "Er—yes, that's me, how'd you—?"

"Blimey," breathed Donna. She took Faith's hand in both of hers and shook with reverence. "I'm shakin' Faith Potter's hand."

Faith, with a bit of difficulty, extracted her hand from Donna's and cleared her throat. "Er—my letter, you can get it into the post, then?"

"Oh—oh, yeh, just leave it t' me. I'll have it to 'Ogwarts in no time. I've got my own owl, ruddy princess at that, but I'll tell 'er not to take 'er sweet time…" Donna was still staring at Faith in awe, which made her uncomfortable, then suddenly seemed to notice the time. "Oh blimey, it's near midnight, I'll just bang this on to 'Ogwarts, shall I? You go on up to your room."

"Thank you very much." she thanked before heading back up, still a bit confused.

**XXXX**

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel—not Donna—came over to their table.

"'Scuse me, but is one of you Ms. F. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk."

She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

**Ms. F. Potter**

**Room 17**

**Railview Hotel**

**Cokeworth**

"I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room before Faith could even spoke a word.

"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a ploughed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley snivelled.

"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television."

Monday. This reminded Faith of something. If it was Monday—and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days of the week, because of television—then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Faith's eleventh birthday. Of course, her birthdays were never exactly fun—last year, the Dursleys had given her a coat hanger and one pair of underwear that fit, probably from the donation bin. Still, you weren't eleven every day.

Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought.

"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!"

It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was for certain, there was no television in there.

"Storm forcast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-grey water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shrivelled up.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully.

He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Faith privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer her up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the filthy sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Faith was left to find the softest bit of floor she could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Faith couldn't sleep. She shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, her stomach rumbling with hunger. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told her she'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. She lay and watched her birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the Deputy Headmistress was now.

She sat up and drew a birthday cake on the dusty floor, watching as time time ticked away.

Five minutes to go. Faith heard something creak outside. She hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although she might be warmer if it did.

Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that she'd be able to steal one somehow, and see the Deputy Headmistress' reply to her letter.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that?

Two minutes to go. What was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and she'd be eleven. Thirty seconds…twenty…ten…nine—maybe she'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him—three…two…one…

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Faith stared at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.


	4. The Keeper of the Keys

~Chapter 4:The Keeper of the Keys~

* * *

BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake.

"Where's the cannon?" he said stupidly.

There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands—now they knew what had been in the long, thin package he had brought with them.

"Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you—I'm armed!"

There was a pause. Then—

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor.

A giant of a man stood in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

The giant bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey…" He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear. "Budge up, yeh great lump."

Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.

"An' here's Faith!" said the giant.

Faith looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile.

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant. "Yeh look a lot like a splittin' image of yer mom."

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise.

"I demand that you leave at once, sir!" he said. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into the corner of the room. Somehow, it didn't seem very shocking, especially considering the size of the man.

Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.

"Anyway—Faith," said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, "A very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here—I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll still taste all right."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat, he pulled a slightly squashed box. Faith opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with _Happy Birthday Faith _written on it in green icing.

Faith looked up at the giant. She meant to say thank you, but the words got lost on the way to her mouth, and what she said instead was, "Who are you?"

The giant chuckled.

"True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

He held out an enormous hand and shook Faith's whole arm.

"What about that tea then, eh? I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."

His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Faith felt the warmth wash over her as though she'd sunk into a hot bath.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea. Faith blinked at the number of stuff that appeared out of his pockets: how did he managed to fit all of that in them? Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little.

Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley."

The giant chuckled darkly.

"Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don't worry."

He passed the sausages to Faith, who was so hungry she had never tasted anything so wonderful, but she still couldn't take her eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, she said, "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."

The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts—yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course."

"Um—no," said Faith.

Hagrid looked shocked.

"Sorry," Faith said quickly.

"_Sorry_?" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. "It's them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't getting' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?"

"All what?" asked Faith in a quiet voice.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!"

He had leapt to his feet. In his anger, he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall.

"Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this girl—this girl!—knows nothin' abou'—about ANYTHING?"

Faith thought this was going a bit far. She had been to school, after all, and her marks weren't bad.

"I know _some_ things," she said. "I can, you know, do maths and stuff."

But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About _our_ world, I mean. _Your _world. _My_ world. _Yer parents'_ _world_."

"What world?"

Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.

"DURSLEY!" he boomed.

Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." Hagrid stared wildly at Faith.

"But yeh must know about yer mom and dad," he said. "I mean, they're _famous_. You're _famous._"

"What? My—my mom and dad weren't famous, were they?"

"Yeh don' know…yeh don' know…" Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Faith with a bewildered stare.

"Yeh don' know what yeh _are_?" he said finally.

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice.

"Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the girl anything!"

A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.

"You never told her? Never told her what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer her? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from her all these years?"

"Kept what from me?" said Faith eagerly.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic.

Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Faith — yer a witch."

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

Faith blinked a few times, before speaking, "Sorry, but did you say I'm a _what_?"

"A witch, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be?"

"Er—So if Hogwarts is real," Faith started sheepishly, pulling out the yellowish envelope from under her shirt, where she'd hidden it. "You see, I sent a reply. A lady named Donna back at the hotel said she had an owl, but I don't know if it's gotten through…"

"Aye, it did. Professor McGonagall had read it and approved." she nodded. "Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl — a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl — a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note that Faith could read upside down:

**Dear Professor Dumbledore,**

**Given Faith her letter.**

**Taking her to buy her things tomorrow.**

**Weather's horrible. Hope you're well.**

**Hagrid**

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone.

"Where was I?" said Hagrid.

At that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.

"She's not going," he said.

Hagrid grunted. "I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop her," he said.

"A what?" said Faith, interested.

"A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call non-magic folk like them. An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

"We swore when we took her in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "Swore we'd stamp it out of her! Witch indeed!"

"You _knew_?" said Faith. "You _knew_ I'm a—a witch?"

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "_Knew_! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that—that _school—_and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was—a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years.

"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as—as—_abnormal_—and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

Faith had gone very white. As soon as she found her voice she said, "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid at the same time, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Faith Potter not knowin' her own story when every kid in our world knows her name!"

"But why? What happened?" Faith asked urgently.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious.

"I never expected this," he said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble getting' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Faith, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh—but someone's gotta—yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'."

He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys.

"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh — mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it…"

He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, "It begins, I suppose, with — with a person called — but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows —"

"Who?"

"Well — I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."

"Why not?"

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Faith, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went… bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was…" Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.

"Could you write it down?" Faith suggested.

"Nah — can't spell it. All right —Voldemort. "

Hagrid shuddered. "Don' make me say it again. Anyway, this — this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too — some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark days, Faith. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches… terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him — an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway.

"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before… probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side. Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em… maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an' — an' —"

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn.

"Sorry," he said "But it's that sad—knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find—anyway…"

"You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then — an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing — he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer temple? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh — took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even — but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Faith. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age — the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewett — an' you was only a baby, an' you lived."

Something very painful was going on in Faith's mind.

As Hagrid's story came to a close, she saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than she had ever remembered it before — and she remembered something else, for the first time in her life: a high, cold, cruel laugh.

Hagrid was watching her sadly.

"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders," said Hagrid. "Brought yeh ter this lot…"

"Load of old tosh," said Uncle Vernon. Faith jumped; she had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have got back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid, and his fists were clenched.

"Now, you listen here, girl," he snarled, "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured—and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion—asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types—just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end—"

But at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle Vernon like a sword, he said, "I'm warning you, Dursley—I'm warning you—one more word…"

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon's courage failed again; he flattened himself against the wall and fell silent.

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa which this time sagged right down to the floor.

Faith, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them. "But what happened to Vol-, sorry — I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"Good question, Faith." Hagrid said. "Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see… he was gettin' more an' more powerful — why'd he go? Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could've done if he was comin' back."

Faith nodded, drinking every bit of information that had escaped his mouth.

"Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Faith. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on — I dunno what it was, no one does — but somethin' about you stumped him, all right."

Hagrid looked at Faith with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Faith, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake.

A witch? Her? How could she possibly be? She'd spent her life being clouted by Dudley, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if she really was a witch, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock her in her cupboard? If she'd once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to kick her around like a football?

"Hagrid," she said quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a witch." To her surprise, Hagrid chuckled.

"Not a witch, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?"

Faith looked into the fire. Now she came to think about it…every odd thing that had ever made her aunt and uncle furious with her had happened when she, Faith, had been upset or angry… chased by Dudley's gang, she had somehow found herself out of their reach…dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, she'd managed to make it grow back… and the very last time Dudley had hit her, hadn't she got her revenge, without even realizing she was doing it? Hadn't she set a boa constrictor on him?

Faith looked back at him, smiling, and saw that Hagrid was positively beaming at her.

"See?" said Hagrid. "Faith Potter, not a witch—you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."

"I assure you, Marly, you are definitely a witch," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "Your name has been down for Hogwarts since you were born—of course you are a witch."

But Uncle Vernon wasn't going to give in without a fight. "Haven't I told you she's not going?" he hissed. "She's going to Stonewall High and she'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and she needs all sorts of rubbish — spell books and wands and —"

"If she wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop her," growled Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter's daughter goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. Her name's been down ever since she was born. She's off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and she won't know herself. She'll be with youngsters of her own sort, fer a change, an' she'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had Albus Dumbled—"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HER MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Uncle Vernon.

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, "NEVER —" he thundered, "— INSULT — ALBUS — DUMBLEDORE — IN — FRONT — OF — ME!"

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley — there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Faith saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers.

Uncle Vernon roared. Pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind them.

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said ruefully, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do."

He cast a sideways look at Faith under his bushy eyebrows. "Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm — er — not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff — one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job."

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Faith.

"Oh, well—I was at Hogwarts meself but I—er—got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore."

"Why were you expelled?" asked Faith.

"It's gettin' late and we've lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid loudly. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that."

He took off his thick black coat and seemed about to throw it to Faith, "You can kip under that," he said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' doormice in one o' the pockets."


	5. Diagon Alley

~Chapter 5: Diagon Alley~

* * *

Faith woke early the next morning. Although she could tell it was daylight, she kept her eyes shut tight. _It was a dream, _she told herself firmly._ I dreamed a giant called Hagrid came to tell me I was going to a school for wizards. When I open my eyes I'll be at home in my cupboard._

There was suddenly a loud tapping noise. And there's Aunt Petunia knocking on the door, Faith thought, her heart sinking.

But she still didn't open her eyes. It had been such a good dream.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"All right," Faith mumbled, "I'm getting up."

She sat up and Hagrid's heavy coat fell off her. The hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid himself was asleep on the collapsed sofa, and there was an owl rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak. Faith scrambled to her feet, so happy she felt as though a large balloon was swelling inside her.

She went straight to the window and jerked it open. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn't wake up. The owl then fluttered onto the floor and began to attack Hagrid's coat.

"Don't do that." Faith scolded. The owl did just stopped but kept hooting. Faith raised a brow before approaching it. "What is it?"

It hooted again, its talon pointing at one pocket. Faith reluctantly reached inside to feel a few wizard coins. She took them out and held it out for the owl. It tapped one of the little bronze coins five times. Faith assumed that the owl wanted five bronze coins and put the money into a small leather pouch tied to the owl's leg. The owl seemed content, picked at the coat one more time and flew off through the open window.

Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched.

"Best be off, Faith, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school."

Faith was turning over the wizard coins and looking at them. She had just thought of something that made her feel as though the happy balloon inside her had got a puncture.

"Um — Hagrid?"

"Mm?" said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots.

"I haven't got any money — and you heard Uncle Vernon last night… he won't pay for me to go and learn magic."

"Don't worry about that," said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?"

"Where are we going to get money, then? Do wizards have banks?"

He chuckled. "Smart girl, Wizards have only one bank. Gringotts. Run by goblins."

"Goblins?"

"Yeah — so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Faith. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe — 'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew himself up proudly. "He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you — gettin' things from Gringotts — knows he can trust me, see."

"Got everythin'? Come on, then." Faith followed Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky was quite clear now and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm. And there wasn't a sign of another boat.

Faith stopped to think; if there's no second boat, how did Hagrid get here? "Hagrid, how did you get here?" Faith asked.

"Flew," said Hagrid.

"Flew?"

"Yeah — but we'll go back in this. Not s'pposed ter use magic now I've got yeh." They settled down in the boat, Faith still staring at Hagrid, trying to imagine him flying.

"Seems a shame ter row, though," said Hagrid, giving Faith another of his sideways looks. "If I was ter — er — speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?"

Faith shook her head vigorously, eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulled out the pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and they sped off toward land.

"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Faith asked.

"Spells — enchantments," said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. "They say there's dragons guardin' the high security vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way — Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."

Faith sat and thought about this while Hagrid read his newspaper, the Daily Prophet. Faith had learned from Uncle Vernon that people liked to be left alone while they did this, but it was very difficult, she'd never had so many questions in her life. Though she was never allowed to ask them in the first place.

"Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid muttered, turning the page.

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Faith asked, before she could stop herself.

"'Course," said Hagrid."They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o' course, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin' fer advice."

"But what does a Ministry of Magic do?"

"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country."

"Well, I can see why. Everyone in the whole world would want a magical solution to everything." Faith said.

At this moment, the boat bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid folded up his newspaper, and they clambered up the stone steps onto the street. Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to the station. Faith couldn't blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, "See that, Faith? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?"

"Hagrid," said Faith, panting a bit as she ran to keep up, "Did you say there are dragons at Gringotts?"

"Well, so they say," said Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."

"You'd like one?!" Faith exclaimed.

"Wanted one ever since I was a kid — here we go."

They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five minutes' time. Hagrid, who didn't understand "Muggle money," as he called it, gave the notes to Faith so she could buy their tickets.

People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.

"Still got yer letter, Faith?" he asked as he counted stitches. She took the parchment envelope out of her pocket.

"Good," said Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need."

Faith pulled out the supply list and nodded. "I've looked at it before… Can we buy all this in London?"

"If yeh know where to go," said Hagrid. Faith had never been to London before. Although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground, and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.

"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," he said as they climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops.

Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; all Faith had to do was keep close behind him. They passed book shops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people.

Could there really be piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Might this not all be some huge joke that the Dursleys had cooked up? If Faith hadn't known that the Dursleys had no sense of humor, she might have thought so; yet somehow, even though everything Hagrid had told her so far was unbelievable, Faith couldn't help trusting him.

"This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, "The Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Faith wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Faith had the most peculiar feeling that only she and Hagrid could see it.

Before she could mention this, Hagrid had steered her inside. For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut.

The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Faith's shoulder and making her knees buckle.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Faith, "is this — can this be —?" The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Faith Potter… what an honor " He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Faith and seized her hand, tears in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Miss. Potter, welcome back."

Faith didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at her. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. Hagrid was beaming. Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Faith found herself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Miss. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Miss. Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand — I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Miss. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" said Faith, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop!"

"She remembers!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? She remembers me!"

Faith shook hands again and again — Doris Crockford kept coming back for more. A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching. She didn't know why but Faith suddenly felt an urge to snap at the twitching man.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Faith, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Faith's hand, "C-Can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" He laughed nervously.

"Dark Arts?" Faith asked.

"Y-Yes, q-quite..." he stuttered. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Faith to himself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.

"Must get on — lots ter buy. Come on, Faith." Doris Crockford shook her hand one last time, and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds. Hagrid grinned at Faith.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh — mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

"Is he always that nervous? He seems to be stuttering quite a lot."

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience… They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag — never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject — now, where's me umbrella?"

Vampires? Hags?

Faith's head was swimming. Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

"Three up… two across…" he muttered. "Right! stand back, Faith." He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella. The brick he had touched quivered — it wriggled — in the middle, a small hole appeared — it grew wider and wider — a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

He grinned at Faith's amazement. They stepped through the archway. Faith looked quickly over her shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons — All Sizes — Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver — Self-Stirring — Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.

"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, "But we gotta get yer money first."

Faith wished she had about eight more eyes. She turned her head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce, they're mad…"

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium — Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of about Faith's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Rosa heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand — fastest ever —"

There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Faith had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon…

"Gringotts," said Hagrid. They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was —

"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him.

The goblin was about a head shorter than Faith. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Rosa noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

"Like I said, Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid.

"I'll say."

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid and Faith made for the counter.

"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Miss. Faith 'Lilian' Potter's safe."

"You have her key, sir?"

"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers.

The goblin wrinkled his nose. Faith watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key. The goblin looked at it closely.

"That seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin read the letter carefully. "Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he and Faith followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Faith asked.

"Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

Griphook held the door open for them. Faith, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in — Hagrid with some difficulty — and were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Faith tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible.

The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering. Faith's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but she kept them wide open. Once, she thought she saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late — they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

"I never know," Faith called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, "What's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"

"Stalagmite's got an 'm' in it," said Hagrid. "An' don' ask me questions just now, I think I'm gonna be sick." He did look very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling.

Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Faith gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze.

"All yours," smiled Hagrid. All Faith's — it was incredible. The Dursleys couldn't have known about this or they'd have had it from her faster than blinking. How often had they complained how much Faith cost them to keep? And all the time there had been a small fortune belonging to her, buried deep under London. Hagrid helped Rosa pile some of it into a bag.

"The gold ones are Galleons, silver are Sickles and bronze are Knuts." he explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." He turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only," said Griphook. They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Faith had almost fell halfway out of the cart when they hit a sharp turn to see an endless bottom, but Hagrid managed pulled her back in safely by the scruff of her neck.

"Thanks." She whispered, still paling at the thought of her falling down that bottomless pit.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole. "Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.

"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Faith asked.

"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.

"I shouldn't have asked..." she muttered. Something really extraordinary had to be inside this top security vault, Faith was sure, and she leaned forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous jewels at the very least — but at first she thought it was empty. Then she noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor.

Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. Faith longed to know what it was, but knew better than to ask.

"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid.

One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Faith didn't know where to run first now that she had a bag full of money. She didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that she was holding more money than she'd had in her whole life — more money than even Dudley had ever had.

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Faith, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, she doesn't blame him since the cart ride was much worse than a roller coaster, so Faith entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Faith started to speak. "Got the lot here."

In the back of a shop, there were several footstools, all empty. Madam Malkin stood Faith on one of them, slipped a long robe over her head, and began to pin it to the right length. "Just for Hogwarts, dear, or would you like everyday robes as well?"

"Er—Hogwarts robes, and maybe one for everyday wear, too," said Faith.

"Any formal robes?"

"No, no, just plain ones," said Faith, wondering what the difference was, and if she'd need any. The supply list hadn't said.

"All right, then. What style would you like, for your everyday robes?"

"Er—what would you suggest?" Faith went with the style Madam Malkin suggested, which seemed to be similar to a kimono, which she'd seen in a book once. Madam Malkin whipped the first robe off her and pulled a second one over her head. She was glad to be in a place where people wouldn't swarm over her once they heard her name. She's already starting to feel overwhelmed.

A boy with a pale, pointed face entered the shop and was directed to the back by a second witch, who put him on a stool next to Faith and began to pin up his long, black robes.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Faith.

"My name's Draco, Draco Malfoy—you?" He had a bored, drawling voice.

"Er—" Faith cast a sideways glance at Draco, who looked both bored and expectant. "Faith."

"Your _family_ name," said Draco, rolling his eyes. "Oh, dear Merlin—you aren't one of those—your parents are _magical_, aren't they?"

"Yes," said Faith, "Not that it matters, they're dead. Never got to meet or see them."

"Oh, sorry." He didn't sound sorry at all. "_My_ father's next door buying my books, and my mother's up the street looking at wands. Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Faith was strongly reminded of Dudley. Though much thinner and more snobbish.

"Have _you_ got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," said Faith. "No point, when they're not allowed for first years. I might get one next year."

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Faith said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be. "I'm hoping to learn, though. My—guardians, never let me."

"_I_ do—Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my House, and I must say, I agree. Know what House you'll be in yet?"

"No," said Faith, feeling more stupid by the minute.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been—imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Well, _someone_ has to be in Hufflepuff," Faith pointed out, wishing she could say something a bit more interesting.

"I suppose you're right. I say, look at that man!" said Draco suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Faith and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," said Faith, pleased to know something the boy didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said Draco, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," said Faith. She was liking the boy less and less every second.

"That's you done, Ms. Potter." said Madam Malkin. Faith thanked her as the lady went on with the other customers.

"Potter! You're _Faith Potter_," gasped Draco Malfoy, spinning to look at her. Faith quickly clasped her hands on his mouth, shushing him immediately. After making sure the other customers didn't hear him, she let go. "Why didn't you _say_ so?"

"That's _exactly_ why," Faith said under her breath. "I don't want the attention on me."

"And why not? You must be proud to be famous."

"Oh, sure. I'm _so_ glad to be surrounded by everyone, wanting to break my hands off from shaking my hand and almost being stampeded over." Faith said, sarcasm dripping over her words. "So famous for something I don't even know what it is."

"Why?"

"As I said, my parents are dead... And I was sheltered away from the Wizarding World for almost my entire life until recently, where I learnt my own heritage." Faith the paused to catch her breath. She had wanted to get all of that out of her chest before she exploded from the recent events of her life. Draco Malfoy stared at her surprised. faith then stepped down from the stool to grab her robes before turning back to the blonde.

"By the way... Malfoy, is it? Or should I call you Draco? Either one, you should really break that annoying habit of yours."

"What're you talking about, Potter?"

"A word of advise: it's quite unhealthy to pretend to be someone you're not." Faith said as she grabbed the bag filled with her robes before leaving the shop.

Faith was rather quiet as she ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought her.

"What's up?" said Hagrid.

"Nothing," Faith lied. They sat at one of the outside tables of Florean Fortescue's, the same parlour where Hagrid had bought their ice cream. She took another lick, paused, and said, "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

"Blimey, Faith, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know—not knowin' about Quidditch!"

"Don't make me feel worse," said Faith. "So what _is_ Quidditch?"

"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like—like football in the Muggle world—everyone follows Quidditch—played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls—sorta hard ter explain the rules."

"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"

"School Houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but—"

"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff," said Faith gloomily.

"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," said Hagrid darkly. "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."

"Vol-, sorry—You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"

"Years an' years ago," said Hagrid.

They bought Faith's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands on some of these.

Then they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Faith, Faith herself examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Faith's list again. "Just yer wand left — A yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

"You don't have to —"

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. We'll go to Magical Menagerie. You can pick out whatever you want."

Faith finally relented and allowed Hagrid to buy her an animal. As soon as they stepped into the shop, Faith's senses were bombarded with rattling of cages, hoots of owls, cats meowing, and even toads croaking.

The walls were lined with cages and the place was very cramped. Faith wondered off to search the place for her new pet. She walked by the toads and stopped to stare at a purple one before moving on to the cats. One by one, she glanced and then left. Each and everyone of them were friendly and unique, thanks to her special bonds with animals but none of them caught her eye or popped out as if saying 'Here I am. I'm the one. Pick me'.

It soon became clear that she didn't want any of these animals. That was until she got closer to the back that she felt something drawing her to a corner.

She glanced at the dusty surroundings searching for the object that called out to her. And then she saw it. A cage much larger than the owls with a cloth draped over it. Faith could hear something squawking inside as it banged against the cage, causing it to slightly titter from side to side.

"Can I help you with something?"

Faith turned when a voice spoke to find a man with brown hair that was graying it the temples. He wore black robes and had warm brown eyes.

"Sorry, but I was curious about this cage. Why is it covered? And why is it sitting all alone in a corner?"

The man didn't answer as he walked to stand beside said cage, "That's because this particular creature is very rare." He then took off the drape to reveal a magnificent golden eagle. Its copper-brown feathers shone with luster and its large golden-brown eyes stared intensely into her own, as if it could see into her soul.

"Rare, indeed." said Hagrid as he came over to them, watching the bird of prey. Faith reached out hesitantly to touch it. "I wouldn' do that if I were yer."

"Why not?"

"Because this one is very rambunctious. I kept selling him to many customers but they always give him back, saying 'He kept snapping at their hands.' or something like that." the owner said, turning to the bird of prey. "At this rate, he'll never find himself a good home."

Faith looked at the eagle with pity before reaching out her hand again, wanting to console the great bird. Though she expected her hand to be snap at but instead, the eagle obediently allowed her to pet him, much to Hagrid's and the owner's amazement.

Faith could have sworn that she heard it say "_Mine." _She quickly understood that he was what was drawing her.

"Amazing. He never let anyone touch him, other than me."

"I feel drawn toward him like he belongs to me," she said, looking highly confused. "Wh-What does it mean?"

"Sounds like yeh found yer familiar."

"My what?"

"Your familiar," said the owner. "They are said to be spirits in animal form. They bond with only one person their entire life. It would seem that this is yours."

"Really?"

He nodded, "It looks like he found himself his new home."

Ten minutes later, they left the store and her familiar, who she named Copper, was sitting in his cage, held by Hagrid since it's too big for Faith to carry. The only thing she feared was how the Dursleys would react to it. She might have to keep him hidden. Or Copper could stay at her window without the Dursley's knowing.

Faith couldn't stop thanking Hagrid, it was the first and best present she had ever received. She stumbled over her words almost as bad as Professor Quirrell.

"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now — only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand." A magic wand… this was what Faith had been really looking forward to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Faith felt strangely as though she had entered a very strict library; she swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to her and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of her neck prickled.

The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Faith awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Faith Potter." It wasn't a question. "You looked just like your mother when she was your age. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Faith. Faith wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it — it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Faith were almost nose to nose. Faith could see herself reflected in those misty eyes.

"And that's where…"

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Faith's temple with a long, white finger.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do…"

He shook his head and then, to Faith's relief, spotted Hagrid.

"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again… Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er — yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.

"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Ollivander sharply.

"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Faith noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now — Miss. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er — well, I'm right-handed," said Faith.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Faith from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round her head.

As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Miss. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Faith suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between her nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Miss. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."

Faith took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of her hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try —"

Faith tried — but she had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"No, no — here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Faith tried. And tried. She had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere — I wonder, now — yes, why not — unusual combination — holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Faith took the wand. She felt a sudden warmth in her fingers. She raised the wand above her head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…" He put Faith's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious… curious…"

"Sorry," said Faith, "But what's curious?" Mr. Ollivander fixed Faith with his pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Miss. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother — why, its brother gave you that scar."

Faith swallowed. "Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Miss. Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great."

Faith shivered. She wasn't sure she liked Mr. Ollivander too much. She paid seven gold Galleons for her wand, and Mr. Ollivander bowed them from his shop.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Faith and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Faith didn't speak at all as they walked down the road; she didn't even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages. Luckily, Copper's cage had a Anti-Muggle spell cast on it so normal people wouldn't look at his cage.

Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; Faith only realized where they were when Hagrid tapped her on the shoulder. "Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," he said.

He bought Faith a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Faith kept looking around. Everything looked so strange, somehow.

"You all right, Faith? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid. Faith wasn't sure she could explain. She'd just had the best birthday of her life — and yet — she chewed her hamburger, trying to find the words.

"Everyone thinks I'm special," she said at last. "All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander… but I don't know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things from me? I'm famous and I can't even remember what I'm famous for. I don't know what happened when Vol-, sorry — I mean, the night my parents died."

Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he wore a very kind smile.

"Don' you worry, Faith. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts — I did — still do, 'smatter of fact."

Hagrid helped Faith on to the train that would take her back to the Dursleys, then handed her an envelope. "Yer ticket fer Hogwarts, " he said. "First o' September — King's Cross — it's all on yer ticket. See yeh soon, Faith."

The train pulled out of the station. Faith wanted to watch Hagrid until he was out of sight; she rose in her seat and pressed her nose against the window, but she blinked and Hagrid had gone.

She sat back down and turned to Copper before smiling, 'Hagrid's right. Maybe... things will get better.'


	6. The Journey From Platform Nine and Three

~Chapter 6: The Journey From Platform Nine and Three-Quarters~

* * *

Faith's last month with the Dursleys wasn't fun. True, Dudley was now so scared of Faith he wouldn't stay in the same room, while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't shut Faith in her cupboard, force her to do anything, or shout at her — in fact, they didn't speak to her at all.

Half terrified, half furious, they acted as though any chair with Faith in it were empty. Although this was an improvement in many ways, it did become a bit depressing after a while.

Faith kept to her room, with her new eagle for company. She also passed the time by reading her school books. They had ended up being very interesting. She found Potions, Charms and D.A.D.A by far the most interesting.

She lay on her bed reading late into the night, Copper resting on the bed post. It was lucky that Aunt Petunia didn't come in to vacuum anymore, because of the first time she saw Copper, she ran screaming about a giant raptor in the house. Every night before she went to sleep, Faith ticked off another day on the piece of paper she had pinned to the wall, counting down to September the first.

On the last day of August, she thought she'd better speak to her aunt and uncle about getting to King's Cross station the next day, so she went down to the living room where they were watching a quiz show on television. She cleared her throat to let them know she was there, and Dudley screamed and ran from the room.

"Er — Uncle Vernon?" Uncle Vernon grunted to show he was listening.

"Er — I need to be at King's Cross tomorrow to — to go to Hogwarts." Uncle Vernon grunted again.

"Would it be all right if you gave me a lift?" Grunt. Faith supposed that meant yes.

"Thank you." She was about to go back upstairs when Uncle Vernon actually spoke.

"Funny way to get to a wizards' school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?" Faith didn't say anything. "Where is this school, anyway?"

"I don't know," said Faith, realizing this for the first time. She pulled the ticket Hagrid had given her out of her pocket.

"I just take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o'clock," she read. Her aunt and uncle stared.

"Platform what?"

"Nine and three-quarters."

"Don't talk rubbish," said Uncle Vernon. "There is no platform nine and three-quarters."

"It's on my ticket."

"Barking," said Uncle Vernon, "Howling mad, the lot of them. You'll see. You just wait. All right, we'll take you to King's Cross. We're going up to London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn't bother."

"Why are you going to London?" Faith asked, trying to keep things friendly.

"Taking Dudley to the hospital," growled Uncle Vernon. "Got to have that ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings."

'Wow, are spells really that lasting?' she thought as she headed back up.

Faith woke at five o'clock the next morning and was too excited and nervous to go back to sleep.

She got up and pulled on her jeans skirt, the only girly thing she had since Aunt Petunia wanted to be more... girly, because she didn't want to walk into the station in her wizard's robes — she'd change on the train. She checked her Hogwarts list yet again to make sure she had everything she needed, saw that Copper was snugged safely in his cage, the spell still ongoing, and then paced the room, waiting for the Dursleys to get up.

Two hours later, Faith's huge, heavy trunk had been loaded into the Dursleys' car, Aunt Petunia had talked Dudley into sitting next to Faith, and they had set off.

They reached King's Cross at half past ten. Uncle Vernon dumped Faith's trunk onto a cart and wheeled it into the station for her.

Faith thought this was strangely kind until Uncle Vernon stopped dead, facing the platforms with a nasty grin on his face. "Well, there you are, girl. Platform nine — platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?"

He was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all. "Have a good term," said Uncle Vernon with an even nastier smile. He left without another word. Faith turned and saw the Dursleys drive away. All three of them were laughing.

She rolled her eyes before walking into the station. She watched the people walking left and right to get to their trains. She didn't dare ask a guard since she doubt anyone here would know Hogwarts. At that moment, a group of people passed just behind her and she caught a few words of what they were saying. "— packed with Muggles, of course —"

Faith swung round. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair.

Each of them was pushing a trunk like Faith's in front of them — and they had an owl. Heart hammering, Faith pushed her cart after them. They stopped and so did she, just near enough to hear what they were saying.

"Now, what's the platform number?" said the boys' mother.

"Nine and three-quarters!" piped a small girl, also red-headed, who was holding her hand, "Mum, can't I go…"

"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first." What looked like the oldest boy marched toward platforms nine and ten. Faith watched, careful not to blink in case she missed it — but just as the boy reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of her and by the time the last backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

"Fred, you next," the plump woman said.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the boy. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred," said the boy, and off he went.

His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done so, because a second later, he had gone — but how had he done it? Now the third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier he was almost there — and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't anywhere. There was nothing else for it.

"Excuse me," Faith said to the plump woman.

"Hello, dear," she said. "First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too." She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose.

"Yes," said Faith. "The thing is — the thing is, I don't know how to —"

"How to get onto the platform?" she said kindly, and Faith nodded.

"Not to worry," she said. "All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."

"Er — okay," said Faith. She pushed her trolley around and stared at the barrier. It looked very solid.

She couldn't help but feel that she would crash into it but this was magic. She started to walk toward it. People jostled her on their way to platforms nine and ten. Faith walked more quickly. She was going to smash right into that barrier and then she'd be in trouble — leaning forward on her cart, she broke into a heavy run — the barrier was coming nearer and nearer — she wouldn't be able to stop — the cart was out of control — she was a foot away — she closed her eyes ready for the crash — It didn't come… she kept on running… she opened her eyes. A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts' Express, eleven o'clock. Faith looked behind her and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it, she had done it.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Faith pushed her cart off down the platform in search of an empty seat.

She passed a round-faced boy who was saying, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, Neville," she heard the old woman sigh.

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us a look, Lee, go on." The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Faith pressed on through the crowd until she found an empty compartment near the end of the train. She started to shove and heave her trunk toward the train door. She tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice she almost dropped it.

"Want a hand?" It was one of the red-haired twins she'd followed through the barrier.

"Yes, please," Faith panted.

"Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!" With the twins' help, Faith's trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment.

The twins caught sight of Copper who was let out of his cage since they're no longer among the Muggles and perched on the windowsill.

"Thanks," said Faith, pushing her sweaty hair out of her eyes.

"What's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Faith's lightning scar while the other one pointed at the eagle.

"He's my familiar," Faith said. A light seemed to click as they stared at her.

"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you —?"

"She is," said the first twin.

"Aren't you?" he added to Faith.

"What?" said Faith.

"Faith Potter." chorused the twins.

"Oh, her," said Faith. "I mean, yes, I am." The two boys gawked at her, and Faith felt herself turning red.

Then, to her relief, a voice came floating in through the train's open door. "Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mum." With a last look at Faith, the twins hopped off the train. Faith sat down next to the window where, half hidden, she could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying.

Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief. "Ron, you've got something on your nose." The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose.

"Mum — geroff" He wriggled free.

"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?" said one of the twins.

"Shut up," said Ron.

"Where's Percy?" said their mother.

"He's coming now." The oldest boy came striding into sight. He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes, and Faith noticed a red and gold badge on his chest with the letter P on it.

"Can't stay long, Mother," he said. "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves —"

"Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?" said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise. "You should have said something, we had no idea."

"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," said the other twin. "Once —"

"Or twice —"

"A minute —"

"All summer —"

"Oh, shut up," said Percy the Prefect.

"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?" said one of the twins.

"Because he's a prefect," said their mother fondly. "All right, dear, well, have a good term — send me an owl when you get there." She kissed Percy on the cheek and he left. Then she turned to the twins.

"Now, you two — this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've — you've blown up a toilet or —"

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thanks, Mum."

"It's not funny. And look after Ron."

"Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us."

"Shut up," said Ron again. He was almost as tall as the twins already and his nose was still pink where his mother had rubbed it.

"Hey, Mum, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?" Faith leaned back quickly so they couldn't see her looking.

"You know that reddish-haired girl who was near us in the station? Know who she is?"

"Who?"

"Faith Potter!" Faith heard the little girl's voice. "Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see her, Mum, eh please…"

"You've already seen her, Ginny, and the poor girl isn't something you goggle at in a zoo. Is she really, Fred? How do you know?"

"Asked her. Saw her scar. It's really there — like lightning."

"Poor dear — no wonder she was alone, I wondered. She was ever so polite when she asked how to get onto the platform."

"Never mind that, do you think she remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?"

Their mother suddenly became very stern. "I forbid you to ask her, Fred. No, don't you dare. As though she needs reminding of that on her first day at school."

"All right, keep your hair on." A whistle sounded.

"Hurry up!" their mother said, and the three boys clambered onto the train. They leaned out of the window for her to kiss them good-bye, and their younger sister began to cry.

"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls."

"We'll send you a Hogwarts' toilet seat."

"George!"

"Only joking, Mum." The train began to move. Faith saw the boys' mother waving and their sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed, then she fell back and waved.

Faith watched the girl and her mother disappear as the train rounded the corner. Houses flashed past the window. Faith felt a great leap of excitement. She didn't know what she was going to — but it had to be better than what she was leaving behind.

The door of the compartment slid open and the youngest redheaded boy came in. "Anyone sitting there?" he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Faith. "Everywhere else is full."

Faith shook her head and the boy sat down. He glanced at Faith and then looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn't looked. Faith saw he still had a black mark on his nose.

"Hey, Ron." The twins were back.

"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train — Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

"Right," mumbled Ron.

"Faith," said the other twin, "Did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then."

"Bye," said Faith and Ron. The twins slid the compartment door shut behind them.

"Are you really Faith Potter?" Ron blurted out. Faith nodded.

"Oh — well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," said Ron. "And have you really got — you know…" He pointed at Faith's temple. "Scar," he said in a hushed voice. Faith pulled back her fringe to show the lightning scar. Ron stared.

"Wicked," he said. "So that's where You-Know-Who —?"

"Yes," said Faith, "but I can't remember it."

"Nothing?" said Ron eagerly. She shook her head. He sat and stared at Faith for a few moments, then, as though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked quickly out of the window again.

"Are all your family wizards?" asked Faith, who found Ron just as interesting as Ron found her.

"Er — Yes, I think so," said Ron. "I think Mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

"So you must know loads of magic already."

"I heard you went to live with Muggles," said Ron. "What are they like?"

"Horrible — well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. Wish I'd had three wizard brothers."

"Five," said Ron. For some reason, he was looking gloomy. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left — Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat."

Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat grey rat, which was asleep. As soon as Ron had pulled out the rat, Copper screeched at the rodent. Ron looked startled by the eagle. How he didn't notice him in the first place, considering his size is a mystery.

"Sorry," Faith said. "I'll keep him away from your pet."

"His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff — I mean, I got Scabbers instead." Ron's ears went pink. He seemed to think he'd said too much, because he went back to staring out of the window.

Faith didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. After all, she'd never had any money in her life until a month ago, and she told Ron so, all about having to wear Dudley's old clothes and never getting proper birthday presents. This seemed to cheer Ron up. "… and until Hagrid told me, I didn't know anything about being a witch or about my parents or Voldemort —"

Ron gasped.

"What?" said Faith.

"You said You-Know-Who's name!" said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed.

"I'd have thought you, of all people —"

"I'm not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name," said Faith, "I just never knew you shouldn't. See what I mean? I've got loads to learn… I bet," she added, voicing for the first time something that had been worrying her a lot lately, "I bet I'm the worst in the class." She began stroking Copper's feathery head.

"You won't be. There's loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough."

While they had been talking, the train had carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past.

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Faith, who hadn't had any breakfast, leapt to her feet, but Ron's ears went pink again and he muttered that he'd brought sandwiches. Faith went out into the corridor. She had never had any money for sweets with the Dursleys, and now that she had pockets rattling with gold and silver she was ready to buy as many Mars Bars as she could carry — but the woman didn't have Mars Bars. What she did have were Bettie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs. Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Liquorice Wands, and a number of other strange things Faith had never seen in her life. Not wanting to miss anything, she got some of everything and paid the woman eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.

Ron stared as Faith brought it all back in to the compartment and tipped it onto an empty seat. "Hungry, are you?"

"Starving," said Faith, taking a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty.

Ron had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four sandwiches inside. He pulled one of them apart and said, "She always forgets I don't like corned beef…"

"Swap you for one of these," said Faith, holding up a pasty. "Go on —"

"You don't want this, it's all dry," said Ron. "She hasn't got much time," he added quickly, "you know, with five of us."

"It's okay, have a pasty," said Faith, who had never had anything to share before or, indeed, anyone to share it with. It was a nice feeling, sitting there with Ron, eating their way through all Faith's pasties, cakes, and candies (the sandwiches lay forgotten). "What are these?" Faith asked Ron, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. "They're not really frogs, are they?" She was starting to feel that nothing would surprise her.

"No," said Ron. "But see what the card is. I'm missing Agrippa."

"What?"

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know — Chocolate Frogs have cards, inside them, you know, to collect — famous witches and wizards. I've got about five hundred, but I haven't got Agrippa or Ptolemy."

Faith unwrapped her Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. It showed a man's face. He wore half-moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.

"So this is Dumbledore!" said Faith.

"Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!" said Ron.

"I do. I've read the course books since I've nothing to do."

"Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa — thanks —"

Faith turned over her card and read:

_ALBUS DUMBLEDORE_

_CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS_

_Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald_

_in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel._

_Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling._

Faith turned the card back over and saw, to her astonishment, that Dumbledore's face had disappeared.

"He's gone!"

"Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day," said Ron. "He'll be back. No, I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of her… do you want it? You can start collecting." Ron's eyes strayed to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

"Help yourself," said Faith. "But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos."

"Do they? What, they don't move at all?" Ron sounded amazed. "Weird!"

Faith stared as Dumbledore sidled back into the picture on her card and gave her a small smile. Ron was more interested in eating the frogs than looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards, but Faith couldn't keep her eyes off them. Soon she had not only Dumbledore and Morgana, but Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, and Merlin.

She finally tore her eyes away from the Druidess Cliodna, who was scratching her nose, to open a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

"You want to be careful with those," Ron warned Faith. "When they say every flavour, they mean every flavour — you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a booger-flavoured one once."

"Thanks for the warning."

Ron picked up a green bean, looked at it carefully, and bit into a corner. "Bleaaargh — see? Sprouts."

They had a good time eating the Every Flavour Beans. Faith got toast, coconut, baked bean, strawberry, curry, grass, coffee, sardine, and was even brave enough to nibble the end of a funny grey one Ron wouldn't touch, which turned out to be pepper.

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills. There was a knock on the door of their compartment and the round-faced boy Faithhad passed on platform nine and three-quarters came in. He looked tearful.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?" When they shook their heads, he wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"He'll turn up," said Faith.

"Yes," said the boy miserably. "Well, if you see him…" He left.

"Don't know why he's so bothered," said Ron. "If I'd brought a toad I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."

The rat was still snoozing on Ron's lap. Copper watched him from his place. "He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," said Ron in disgust. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look…" He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway —" He had just raised his wand when the compartment door slid open again. The toadless boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said Ron, but the girl wasn't listening, she was looking at the wand in his hand.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then." She sat down. Ron looked taken aback.

"Er — all right." He cleared his throat.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is. I've heard — I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough — I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?" She said all this very fast.

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron muttered.

"Faith Potter," said Rosa.

"Are you really?" said Hermione. "I know all about you, of course — I got a few extra books, for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

"Am I?" said Faith, feeling dazed.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Hermione. "Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad… Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

And she left, taking the toadless boy with her. "Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron. Faith thought this was a little harsh but didn't say anything. He threw his wand back into his trunk. "Stupid spell — George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud."

"What house are your brothers in?" asked Faith.

"Gryffindor," said Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him again. "Mum and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

"That's the house Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who was in?"

"Yeah," said Ron. He flopped back into his seat, looking depressed.

"You know, I think the ends of Scabbers' whiskers are a bit lighter," said Faith, trying to take Ron's mind off houses. "So what do your oldest brothers do now that they've left, anyway?" Faith was wondering what wizards and witches did once they'd finished school.

"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," said Ron. "Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles — someone tried to rob a high security vault."

Faith stared. "Really? What happened to them?"

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it."

Faith turned this news over in her mind. She was starting to get a prickle of fear every time You-Know-Who was mentioned. She supposed this was all part of entering the magical world, but it had been a lot more comfortable saying "Voldemort" without worrying.

"What's your Quidditch team?" Ron asked.

"Er — I don't know any." Faith confessed.

"What!" Ron looked dumbfounded. "Oh, you wait, it's the best game in the world —" And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he'd been to with his brothers and the broomstick he'd like to get if he had the money. He was just taking Faith through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn't Neville the toadless boy, or Hermione Granger this time.

Three boys entered, and Rosa recognized the middle one at once: it was the pale boy from Madam Malkins robe shop. He was looking at Faith with a lot more interest than he'd shown back in Diagon Alley. "Well, well, if it isn't Faith 'Lilian' Potter. So nice to see you again."

"I'm flattered..." said Faith sarcastically. She was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of Draco, they looked like bodyguards.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said Draco carelessly, noticing where Faith was looking before finally noticing Ron. "And what do we have here? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford." Copper hissed lowly only Faith heard.

He turned back to Faith. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." He held out his hand to shake Faith's, but she didn't take it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," she said coolly. "And I think that you could have better friends than—them. No offense," she added, to Crabbe and Goyle. "But you two look more like bodyguards than friends."

Draco frowned. "They've always been my friends. Their fathers are friends with my father, after all."

"I'm not interested in what your father thinks, Draco," she told him, "I'm interested in what _you_ think."

"I see," Draco said slowly. "I'll have to think on that, Potter." He then turned to leave.

"Also..." Faith spoke. "You should consider my advise. As I said, it's very unhealthy."

The pale blonde, much to Ron's surprise, stopped to think before the three of them disappeared. Said Weasley stared at her in awe.

"Faith, you just did the impossible!" he exclaimed. "No one has ever talked back to Malfoy before. Scared of what his father could do. And what do you mean by what you said to him?"

Before she could reply, Hermione Granger had come in.

"What has been going on?" she said. Faith then spent the next few minutes explaining what happened.

"You've met Malfoy before?" Faith asked.

"I've heard of his family," said Ron darkly. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side." He turned to Hermione. "Can we help you with something?"

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there."

"Alright." Faith said before turning to Ron. "Would you mind leaving while we change?"

Ron raised a brow before understanding that he's in a cabin with two girls so he quickly got out to leave the girls in privacy.

After they are done, a voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Faith's stomach lurched with nerves and Ron, she saw, looked pale under his freckles. They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined the crowd thronging the corridor. Copper had already perched himself on Faith's right shoulder. Surprisingly, he's much lighter than she had expected so she didn't titter to one side.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Faith shivered in the cold night air while Copper tried his best to warm her up a bit. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Faith heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Faith?"

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

"C'mon, follow me — any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!" Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Faith thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much.

Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice. "Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!" The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Faith and Ron were followed into their boat by Neville and Hermione. "Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then — FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands.

"Glad you found him." Faith said.

Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?" Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.


	7. The Sorting Hat

~Chapter 7: The Sorting Hat~

* * *

The door swung open at once. Professor McGonagall stood there, looking sternly at the first years.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursleys' house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Faith could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right—the rest of the school must already be here—but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room."

Faith half-listened to what she was saying since she had read her books about the four houses after Hagrid had explained them to her. She absent-mindedly petted Copper's head, his large build attracted many stares but didn't say anything, much to her relief.

"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House cup, a great honor I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose. Faith nervously tried to flatten her hair.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Faith helped Neville unfasten his cloak. Neville was shaking too much to do it himself.

"Do you know how they sort us into Hogwarts?" she asked Hermione.

Hermione shook her head. "_Hogwarts, a History_ doesn't say. It's supposed to be a secret."

Ron, overhearing them, said, "Some sort of test, I think. My brother Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

Faith's heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? But she didn't know any magic yet—what on earth would she have to do? She hadn't expected something like this the moment they arrived. She looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. No one was talking much except Hermione, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one she'd need. Faith wished that they'd practiced some on the train. She'd never been more nervous, never, not even when she'd had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that she'd somehow turned her teacher's wig blue. She kept her eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead her to her doom.

Then something happened that made her jump about a foot in the air, Neville jumped even higher—several people behind her screamed.

"What the—?"

She gasped. So did the people around her. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance—"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost—I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old House, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly as though her legs had turned to lead, Faith got in line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Hermione behind her, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Faith had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Faith looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars.

She heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, a History_."

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

Faith quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed witch's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house.

_Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it_, Faith thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing—noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, she stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth—and the hat began to sing:

"_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!_"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron said to her. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Faith smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but she did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Faith didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a House for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for her.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause—

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Faith saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Faith could see the twins catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Faith's imagination, but she thought they looked like an unpleasant lot.

She was starting to feel definitely sick now. She remembered being picked for teams during gym at her old school. She had always been last to be chosen, not because she was no good, but because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked her.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Faith noticed, the hat shouted out the House at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Finnegan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to Faith in line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat.

A horrible thought struck Faith, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if she wasn't chosen at all? What if she just sat there with the hat over her eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off her head and said there had obviously been a mistake and she'd better get back on the train?

When Neville Longbottom was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," he ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."

Draco Malfoy walked forward when his name was called, glanced once at Faith, looking deep in thought, and then sat down with the hat on. The hat opened its mouth several times but hesitated each time, then finally called out reluctantly, "RAVENCLAW!"

There was a stunned silence in the hall. Faith saw Crabbe and Goyle looking stupidly surprised over at the Slytherin table. Draco got up, placed the hat back on the stool, and walked over to the Ravenclaw table with quiet dignity; they started clapping half-heartedly. She couldn't blame them; from what she heard from Ron, Draco's family were all once in Slytherin and followers of... You-Know-Who. Though it puzzled her as to why he was suddenly sorted into Ravenclaw.

There weren't many people left now.

"Moon"…, "Nott"…, "Parkinson"…, then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil"…, then "Perks, Sally-Anne".., and then, at last—

"Potter, Faith!"

As Faith stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"_Potter_, did she say?"

"_The_ Faith Potter?"

Copper had flew overhead as Faith walked towards the Sorting Hat.

The last thing Faith saw before the hat dropped over her eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at her. Next second she was looking at the black inside of a hat. She waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in her ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage. Not a bad mind. There's a lot of talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… you are the living proof of the saying 'There's a fine line between the Hogwarts Houses.' So where shall I put you? You have the head of a Slytherin, very resourceful and determined. You have the heart of a Hufflepuff, loyal and fair. Like I said, you're very difficult. You have the brains of a Ravenclaw, clever and witty. And the soul of a Gryffindor, brave and daring. Now where shall I put you?"

The voice hummed, "Well I can scrap Hufflepuff, you're loyal and hard-working enough, but Hufflepuff won't be able to do much for you. Ravenclaw as well. Hmmm… that leaves two other houses to choose from but from the looks of it, Slytherin would be too much for you—better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Faith heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. She took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. She was so relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin, she hardly noticed that she was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy got up and shook her hand vigorously, while the twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" Faith sat down next to Hermione, opposite the ghost in the ruff she'd seen earlier. The ghost patted her arm, giving Faith the sudden, horrible feeling she'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.

Copper flew down to the Gryffindor's table and landed on the space beside her, rubbing his head against her arm. Faith smiled before looking around the hall.

She could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest her sat Hagrid, who caught her eye and gave her the thumbs up. Faith grinned back. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Faith recognized him at once from the card she'd gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Faith spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.

And now there were only four people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean," a boy even taller than Ron, joined Faith at the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was pale green. A second later the hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!"

Faith clapped with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to Copper, who's resting on Faith's lap. She gave him a smile, which the redhead gave back.

"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy pompously across the table as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Faith looked down at her empty gold plate. She had only just realized how hungry she was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Faith didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Is he—a bit mad?" she asked Percy uncertainly.

"Mad?" said Percy airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Faith?"

Faith's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of her were now piled with food. She had never seen so many things she liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

The Dursleys had never exactly starved Faith, but she'd never been allowed to eat as much as she liked. Dudley had always taken anything that Faith really wanted, even if it made him sick. Faith piled her plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat. It was all delicious.

"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Faith cut up her steak while giving a few pieces to Copper.

"Can't you—?"

"I haven't eaten for nearly five hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" said Ron suddenly. "My brothers told me about you—you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

"I would _prefer_ you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy—" the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnegan interrupted. He had a strong Irish accent.

"_Nearly _Headless? How can you be _nearly_ headless?"

Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way he wanted.

"Like _this_," he said irritably. He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously trying to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said, "So—new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the House Championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable—he's the Slytherin ghost."

Faith looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Theodore Nott, who didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.

"I can see why he's called the 'Bloody Baron'." said Faith.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest.

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding…

As Faith helped herself to a bit of fudge and a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families.

"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mum didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."

The others laughed.

"Well, everyone knows I'm a Weasley, you know—red hair, freckles. My dad works for the Ministry, and my mum's still at home with my sister. Fred, George, and Percy are still here at Hogwarts, but Bill and Charlie, my oldest brothers, they've left England," said Ron. "Gone to Romania and Egypt. What about you, Neville?"

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but the family thought I was a Squib for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me—he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned—but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced—all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here—they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."

"That's horrible," said Faith. "Why would they _do_ that?"

Ron and Neville stared at her. "Magic's really important, to all-magical families," said Ron. "Those born without magic…Squibs…they're really looked down on. I think I have a second cousin who's one, an accountant in the Muggle world, but we never talk about him."

Faith frowned. "That's horrible. Just because someone doesn't have magic doesn't mean they're any less of a human being."

Neville just shrugged. "Glad it's not two hundred years ago—people still drowned Squibs at birth, then, or left them exposed."

Faith shook her head in disgust and turned to join in Percy and Hermione's discussion on her other side. They were talking about lessons.

"I _do_ hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult—" said Hermione.

"You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing—" said Percy.

"I'm looking forward to Charms and Transfiguration the most, cause that's what my parents were best in," said Faith. "Do you know which we have first, Percy?"

"No, sorry, the schedule changes every year," he said, shaking his head. He and Hermione started debating the finer points of knowing the exact timetable for every year and Faith looked up at the High Table again, starting to feel warm and sleepy.

Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Faith's eyes—and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Faith's temple.

"Ouch!" Faith clapped a hand to her head, tearing her eyes away.

"What is it?" asked Percy.

"N-nothing."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Faith had gotten from the teacher's look—a feeling that Faith reminded him of something very sad, something he'd lost.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" she asked Percy.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to—everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

Faith watched Professor Snape for a while, but he didn't look at her again.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered."

"Makes us sound like animals," whispered Fred (or was it George?).

"We _are_ animals, Fred," George whispered back.

"I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death." A few laughed at that.

"He's not serious?" Faith muttered to Percy.

"Must be," said Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere—the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Faith noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed, and Professor Snape's fingers were clenched rather tightly around his goblet.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the school bellowed:

"_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they're bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot._"

Everybody finished the song at different times. Faith just stared with her mouth open—she'd never been able to carry a time. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Gryffindor first years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Faith's legs were like lead again, but only because she was so tired and full of food. She was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Faith was just wondering how much further they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as Percy took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." He raised his voice, "Peeves—show yourself."

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil chuckle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Percy.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armour as he passed.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she said.

"Caput Draconis," said Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it—Neville needed a leg up—and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase—they were obviously in one of the towers—they found their beds at last: four four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up, and one was laid at the foot of each bed. Copper had already perched himself on the bed post, quickly fallen asleep.

Too tired to talk much, Faith pulled on her pajamas and fell into bed, and Hermione did the same, but the other two girls—Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil—had already become fast friends and were gossiping about the older girls.

"Isn't it amazing?" Hermione asked, rolling over to face Faith through the hangings, as their beds were next to each other.

"Definitely," said Faith. "I can't wait for tomorrow." She was going to ask Hermione if she'd had any of the treacle tart, but she fell asleep almost at once.

Perhaps Faith had eaten a bit too much, because she had a very strange dream. She was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which kept talking to her, telling her she must transfer to Slytherin at once, because it was her destiny. Faith told the turban she didn't want to be in Slytherin; it got heavier and heavier; she tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully—and there was Dudley, laughing at her as she struggled with it—then Dudley turned into the hook-nosed teacher, Snape, who stretched out a hand toward her, then started laughing. His laugh turned became high and cold—there was a burst of green light and Faith woke, sweating and shaking.

She rolled over and fell asleep again, and when she woke the next day, she didn't remember the dream at all.


	8. The Potions Master

~Chapter 8: the Potions Master~

* * *

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the girl with bushy hair."

"Did you see her eyes?"

"Did you see her scar?"

Whispers followed Faith from the moment she left her dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at her, or doubled back to pass her in the corridors again, staring. Faith wished they wouldn't, because she was trying to concentrate on finding her way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump (Faith fell through one twice before remembering). Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Faith was sure the coats of armor could walk.

The ghosts didn't help either, or at least not for the other students. In the first week, Faith had made friends with both The Bloody Baron and Peeves.

The first time Faith had run into The Bloody Baron, she had been running late for Charms. The usual feeling of getting dunked into a frozen lake overtook her as she jumped back.

"I'm so sorry sir," Faith said. "I'm just terribly lost and running late for Charms." The Bloody Baron however just stared at her and didn't seem to hear a word she had said. His usual hallow eyes searched her own green ones. Faith grew uncomfortable under his gaze and took a step back. At any moment she suspected him of doing something horrible.

"I'll just be going on," she said quickly. This snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Lost did you say?" he said. "Charms was it?" Faith nodded slowly not having expected this and didn't know what to make of it. "Well follow me then. I know a short cut." This only seemed to confuse her more. She watched as he disappeared behind a painting. He poked his head back through. "Coming?"

Faith didn't know if that would be a great idea but he did say it was a short cut. Anyways if it ended up being a joke she could always blame it on a ghost pointing her the wrong way.

She followed the Bloody Baron through the secret passageway and found herself down the corridor from her class. She beamed at the Slytherin ghost and after saying thanks she left for her class.

Peeves was a different story. She hadn't seek him out or had run into him. Quite the contrary he seemed to have been looking for her.

"Ooohh an ickle firstie," he cackled in glee. One of the portraits flew from the wall and almost hit her but she dunked. Faith gazed up at him in curiosity. She had heard many stories about the Poltergeist and how she should avoid him with all costs. However instead of being wary of him, she just felt curious.

"Peeves right?" she asked. The ghost seemed taken aback by her lack of fear or annoyance. "Well if you don't mind I really must be going. But it was lovely to meet you." Without another word, she had left the confused ghost and from then on they had built a friendship.

But Ron and Seamus managed to get on the wrong side of the caretaker, Argus Filch, on their very first morning. Ron told Faith over lunch that day that the two of them had been lost and trying to get into the out-of-bounds corridor, and only managed to escape Filch, who wouldn't believe that they were only lost, because of Professor Quirrell.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored cat with bulging, lamp-like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Faith quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movement of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. at the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Faith's name he gave an excited squeak and almost fell over.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class, and made it clear without saying anything of the sort that she would not be showing Faith any favours.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson. only Hermione had made any difference to her match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Hermione a rare smile.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnegan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Faith was very relieved to find out that she wasn't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like her, hadn't had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people born to wizarding families, like Ron, didn't have much of a head start.

Friday was a memorable day. Dean and Seamus finally managed to wake the two sleeping beauties up on time.

"Good morning, I'm surprised to see you here this early." Faith greeted, when Ron and Neville sat down opposite her.

Ron grunted and Neville laughed embarrassed. "What have we got today?" he asked as Faith took a vial of a green-colored potion out of her skirt pocket and applied the lotion-like potion onto her arms. She had made several of these so as to keep her condition in bay.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," answered Hermione as Faith kept her vial away. "Professor Snape's the teacher. He was just looking this way. He was looking at you with suspicion, Faith."

Ron snorted. "Snape's Head of Slytherin house, he always looks suspiciously at Gryffindors. Wish Professor McGonagall favored us," Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor House, but it hadn't stopped her from giving them a huge pile of homework the day before. Faith and Hermione had spent at least an hour in the library trying to get it all done before they got more homework from their other classes, but only managed to finish half of it.

Just then, the mail arrived. Faith had gotten used to this by now, but it had given her a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Copper hadn't brought Faith anything so far. He sometimes flew in to stay by her side and have a bit of toast before flying out to venture like every eagle would. Faith could still remember how the whole student body were shocked and surprised to see an eagle by her side, especially those from the Ravenclaw since the eagle is their house mascot. But Dumbledore had made it clear that even though eagles aren't in the pets list, familiars are allowed no matter the species.

This morning, however, he fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Faith's plate. Faith tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

_Dear Faith,_

_I know you get Friday afternoons off so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?_

_I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Copper._

_Hagrid_

Faith smiled and looked at her first friends ever. "So do you want to come?"

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle and would have been quite creepy without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Faith's name.

"Ah, yes, Faith _Potter_.' he sneered her last name. Faith looked at him and saw that Snape was looking at her with the same strange expression she saw at the start-of-term banquet. Today, his eyes held more suspicion.

Snape finished calling the names and looked at the class.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making " he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses … I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Silence followed this little speech. Snape spoke almost lovingly about potions, and Faith wondered what he would do if he knew that Faith thought Potions was very similar to cooking.

As if he had read her thoughts, Snape suddenly rounded on her.

"Ms. Potter!" he called, making her jump a bit. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

_Powdered root of asphodel and an infusion of wormwood._ The ingredients sounded very familiar to Faith. But she couldn't remember the name of the potion, she remembered what kind of potion it was though. "A sleeping potion, sir."

Snape sneered. "Can you _tell_ me the name of the potion, Ms. Potter?"

"I can't remember it, sir." whispered Faith.

Snape's lip curled into a sneer. Ignoring Hermione he asked, "Let's try again. Ms. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Faith almost sighed in relief, this one she knew. "The stomach of a goat, sir."

"And what does a bezoar do?"

"It can cure most poisons, sir."

Snape nodded, but wasn't satisfied yet.

"And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Faith slightly raised a brow in confusion, "Are they not the same plant, sir?"

Snape looked a little bit sour. "Are you asking me, or telling me, Ms. Potter?"

"Er—telling you, sir."

He nodded, looked away from Faith and at the class. "Asphodel and wormwood _do _make a sleeping potion, this potion is so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and will indeed save you from most poisons. As an answer to Ms. Potter's last question, yes, monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

Faith and Hermione had started scribbling down his words the moment he began speaking, but everyone else hadn't, and there was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment.

The second part of the lesson was the practical part. Professor Snape had put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. This potion was one of the few potions Faith hadn't made at number 4 Privet Drive. Fortunately she was paired with Hermione, and they did fairly well. Faith, being more experienced in preparing ingredients for both cooking and potions, weighed, cut and crushed the ingredients while Hermione took care of everything in the cauldron.

When the potion was boiling quietly on the fire, Faith took the time to look around. It seemed that they were the only ones whose potion was almost finished.

"Don't!" Hermione suddenly shouted in a hush voice. Faith turned to look at Hermione. She was looking at Neville and Ron. "You have to take the cauldron off the fire before adding the porcupine quills."

Neville, who was about to drop the quills in the cauldron, which was still on the fire, froze. Ron quickly took the cauldron away from both the fire and Neville, and added the porcupine quills. Faith sighed in relief, she didn't want to know what would have happened, if Hermione wasn't such a meddler. But she sighed too early. Snape, having heard Hermione's hushed shout, was at their side of the classroom in an instant.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger," he sneered. "You should not meddle with other people's business while you haven't finished yours."

Hermione went red. Faith looked at their own potion, and deciding it was red enough, put some in a vial. "Our potion is finished, sir." she said, handing the vial to Snape.

Snape looked at it. "Acceptable, but the potion would be more effective if it was pink." He walked away to chew out another pair of students.

Hermione looked in her book, and whispered to Faith, "The pink one is the more advanced version, red is the perfect color for the basic potion."

Faith nodded, and wanted to say something when Snape turned his attention on her again. "Ms. Potter, stay after class."

"Yes sir," said Faith, and when Snape turned his attention back to his current pair of students, she turned to Hermione. "Did I do something wrong?"

"You didn't. He might have a reason for it." she said as she gave her a sympathetic look, and turned to try helping Neville and Ron without being noticed.

When class had ended, and after everyone had stormed out of the dungeons, Faith was left alone with the Potions professor, who was scowling at a vial of potion that is bright purple. She winced at the poor pair who concocted it. They are so going to get in so much trouble in the next Potions class.

"Um, sir. You need to see me?"

Snape looked at her. Black eyes boring into her green ones.

"What did you apply onto yourself at breakfast, Ms. Potter?" he asked.

Faith blinked, but couldn't look away. "What do you mean sir?"

Snape scowled. "You used something not provided by school, I saw you taking it out of your pocket."

Faith blinked in surprise; And here she thought she had gotten herself into trouble.

"It-It was a sort of lotion-like potion, sir." Faith said, not understanding why Professor Snape, of all people, wanted to know what she used.

Snape actually looked a bit confused at her answer. "A what potion?"

"You can say it's a potion in the form of a lotion." Faith said before she started to panic. "I'm not trying to use any rhymes or gimmick here, sir. I have a perfectly good explanation for this!"

Snape frowned. "Do tell."

"Well, I made the potion myself, sir." This time, Faith could tell that Snape was really surprised. "And it's actually for my...' Faith started to twiddle her fingers. "Condition."

"And what condition do you have?" he raised a brow.

"Um, well... It's kind of hard to explain." she bit her lower lip, not sure how to word it. "Maybe it's best if I show you... The potion should have worn out by now." Faith then stood a ways from the Potions Professor before rolling her robe's sleeves up, then she lightly rubbed her hands together. Almost instantly, sparks of electricity danced about her hands before she pulled her hands apart to reveal many strings of electricity.

Once done with her show-and-tell, Faith looked back up to the Potions Professor whose expression is of mild surprise. "I wouldn't call it a condition but I seem to have build up a lot of electricity inside me. That's why I have to apply the potion at least two times a day so I don't accidentally electrocute others." she explained.

"...I see." said Snape as he rose from his seat. "Seems to me you have _that_ in your blood so it doesn't surprise me."

"That, sir?"

"It's not my place to tell you." She nodded. "You may go now."

Faith nodded. "Yes sir. Have a good day, Professor Snape." she bowed before walking out of the room.

Faith then met Hermione, Neville and Ron at the Entrance Hall. Neville was looking concerned and Ron was muttering about greasy gits. Hermione was the first to notice her.

"Faith!" she squealed, running to her. "What did Professor Snape want?"

"What did he do to you?" Ron asked.

"Are you okay?" Neville inquired timidly.

Faith laughed. "Guys, I'm fine. Professor Snape didn't do anything. It's nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure? Did he give you detention? Fred and George says he always made them scrub the most filthy and smelly cauldrons without magic." Ron said.

Faith smiled. "Really Ron, I'm fine. He didn't give me detention, he just wanted to speak with me about something. Anyways, we better get going to Hagrid's."

They left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Faith knocked, they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "_Back_, Fang—_back_."

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Faith and started licking her face. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked. Still Neville hid behind Hermione staring fearfully at the big dog.

"Hagrid, I want to introduce my friends. These are Hermione, Ron and Neville." Faith introduced.

Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot ad putting rock cakes on to a plate, turned to look at them. He took a glance at Ron's hair and freckles. "Another Weasley, eh? I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the Forest."

The rock cakes almost broke their teeth, but they pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Faith's knee and drooled all over her robes. Neville shuffled away from her.

Hagrid asked Ron about his brother Charlie who worked with dragons. While they were talking about that, Faith picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

_GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST_

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of dark wizards or witches unknown._

_Gringotts' goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day._

"_But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon._

"Hagrid! A Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! The day we were at Gringotts!"

Hagrid grunted something and offered her another rock cake. Faith noticed that Hagrid didn't meet her eyes. She read the story again _The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day._ Hagrid had emptied vault 713, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for? Had Hagrid collected the package just in time? Where was it now?


	9. The Midnight Duel

~Chapter 9: The Midnight Duel~

* * *

Faith had never believed she would meet someone she hated more than Dudley, and that was still true, although she really disliked some of the Slytherins. Still, first-year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so they didn't have to put up with them much. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that made them all groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday—and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"Typical," said Faith darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of the Slytherins."

She had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else—perhaps it was that recurring dream of the flying motorcycle.

"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Hermione reasonably, but she was very nervous about learning to fly, herself. "I'll probably fall off and make everyone laugh…"

They weren't the only nervous ones, but Seamus Finnegan and Ron Weasley told long, boastful stories of zooming around the countryside on their broomsticks and almost hitting hang gliders. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly, even Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who sighed over posters of half-naked Quidditch players and wanted to know Faith and Hermione's opinions on them, too.

Neville had never been on a broomstick on his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Faith felt she'd had good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.

Hermione was almost as nervous as Neville. This was something you couldn't learn out of a book—not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday, she read a bunch of flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later. Faith listened in half-heartedly, but like everyone else, was pleased when her lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Faith hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, of course she wouldn't expect the Dursley's to even bother to send a letter, but she had noticed that Draco's eagle owl was always bringing him long letters, the first of which he read at the table, the others he stuffed in his book-bag without opening. He didn't seem to have many friends in Ravenclaw, and she often caught him watching Crabbe, Goyle, the boy they had started following around in place of Malfoy—Nott—and the other Slytherins longingly, but just as often she caught him watching her.

A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things—this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red—oh…" His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, "…you've forgotten something…"

Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Theodore Nott, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.

Ron jumped to his feet. He looked like he was half hoping for a reason to fight him since he had been gloating at them ever since the first week, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash. Faith still couldn't understand how she was doing that.

"What's going on?"

"Nott's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Nott quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," he said, and sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle.

**XXXX**

At three-thirty that afternoon, Faith, Hermione, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Faith had heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, grey hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"What, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Faith glanced down at her broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'UP!' "

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Faith's broom jumped into her hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Faith; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Madame Hooch even taught the girls who were wearing skirts on how to ride the broom sideways in a lady-like fashion.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms stead, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle—three—two—"

But Neville, nervous and jump and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted.

"Ma'am, can't you slow down his broom?" Faith asked their flying professor. Neville was more than twenty feet in the air. Madam Hooch grabbed her wand and tried to aim a spell at Neville. _Tried_ being the keyword. Neville had now completely lost control of his broom and he was zooming around, making it difficult for Madam Hooch to hit his broom with a spell.

Faith saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off his broom and—WHAM—a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay face down on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the Forbidden Forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," Faith heard her mutter. "Come on, boy—it's all right, up you get."

She turned to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Theodore Nott burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

The other Slytherins joined in.

"Shut up, Nott," snapped Parvati.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin. "Never thought _you'd _like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

"Look!" said Nott, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"Give that here, Nott," said Faith quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch. "It doesn't belong to you."

Nott smiled nastily.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find—how about—up a tree?" Nott had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"

Faith grabbed her broom.

"No!" shouted Hermione. "Madam Hooch told us not to move—you'll get us all into trouble."

Faith ignored her. Blood was pounding in her ears. She mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up she soared; air rushed through her hair, and her robes whipped out behind her—and in a rush of fierce joy she realized she'd found something she could do without being taught—this was easy, this was _wonderful_. She pulled her broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and heard screams and gasps from girls back on the ground and admiring whoops and catcalls from the boys.

Though it was difficult controlling the broom while sitting sideways, Faith managed to get the hang of it as she turned her broomstick sharply to face Nott in midair. Nott looked stunned.

"Give it here, Nott," Faith called, "Or I'll knock you off that broom! See how _you_ feel with a broken wrist."

"Oh, yeah?" said Nott, trying to sneer, but looking worried.

Faith knew, somehow, what to do. She leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Nott like a javelin. He only just got out of the way in time; Faith made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Nott," Faith called.

The same thought seemed to have struck Nott.

"Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

Faith saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. She leaned forward and pointed her broom handle down—next second she was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball—wind whistled in her ears, mingled with the screams of people watching—she stretched out her free left hand—a foot from the ground and she caught it, just in time to pull her broom straight, and she toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in her fist, grinning up at the blue, blue sky.

"FAITH 'LILIAN' POTTER!"

Her heart sank faster than she'd just dived, and her smile disappeared. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. She got to her feet, trembling.

"_Never_—in all my time at Hogwarts—"

Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, "—how _dare_ you—might have broken your neck—"

"It wasn't her fault, Professor—"

"Be quiet, Ms. Patil—"

"But Nott—"

"That's _enough_, Mr. Weasley. Ms. Potter, follow me, now."

Faith caught sight of Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as she left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle. She was going to be expelled, she just knew it. She wanted to say something to defend herself, but there seemed to be something wrong with her voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at her; she had to jog to keep up. Now she'd done it. She hadn't even lasted two weeks. She'd be packing her bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when she turned up on the doorstep?

Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to her. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Faith trotting miserably behind her. Maybe she was taking her to Dumbledore. She thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps she could be Hagrid's assistant. Her stomach twisted as she imagined in, watching Hermione and the others become witches and wizards while she stumped around the grounds carrying Hagrid's bag.

Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

Wood? thought Faith, bewildered; was Wood a cane Professor McGonagall was going to use on her?

But Wood turned out to be a person, a burly fifth-year boy who came out of Flitwick's classroom looking confused.

"Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Faith.

"In here."

Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

"Out, Peeves!" she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two.

"Faith, this is Oliver Wood. Wood—I've found you a Seeker."

Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

"Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The girl's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Faith?"

Faith nodded silently. She didn't have a clue what was going on, but she didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to her legs.

"She caught that thing in her hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor McGonagall told Wood. "Didn't even scratch herself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it. Especially not riding it sideways."

Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.

"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.

"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.

"She's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around Faith and staring at her. "Light—speedy—we'll have to get her a decent broom, Professor—a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."

"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. _Flattened_ in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks…"

Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Faith. "I want to hear you're training hard, Faith, or I may change my mind about punishing you." Then she suddenly smiled. "Your father would have been proud," she said. "He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

There was a moment when Faith wanted to ask Professor McGonagall about Professor Snape's relationship with her parents—but then Wood started talking about when they'd start training her, and the moment passed.

**XXXX**

"You're _joking_."

It was dinnertime. Faith had just finished telling Ron and Hermione what had happened when she'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. While ron was staring and gaping at Faith in awe, Hermione frowned in consternation.

"_Seeker_?" she said. "I hope you don't think that's a reward for breaking the rules—"

"Of course not," said Faith, hastening to assure her. "And anyways, I wouldn't have done it if Nott hadn't taken Neville's Remembrall in the first place."

Hermione shook her head. "That's no excuse to break _rules_, Faith," she said primly. "Rules are there for a reason, they're to keep us _safe_ and _orderly_."

"I'm perfectly fine! And I'm the youngest Seeker in a _century—_Wood told me." She cut up her steak and started eating it. She felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon.

Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed, but smiled at Faith. "That _is_ quite an accomplishment—I wonder who the youngest Seeker was before you? When do you start training, do you know?"

"Look it up and let me know," said Faith. "I start training next week—but don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Faith, and hurried over.

"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the team too—Beaters."

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch Cup for sure this year," said Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Faith, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."

"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."

"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you."

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Nott, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting on the train back to the Muggles?"

"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Faith coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Nott. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only—no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course she has," said Ron Weasley, wheeling around. "I'm her second, who's yours?"

Nott looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

"Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

"No, I don't _want_ a duel, Nott," Faith rolled her eyes. "You wouldn't do anything more than throw sparks at me, anyways."

"I'll be there," Nott said in reply, smirking. "If you're not a _coward_, you'll show up."

When Nott had gone, Faith scowled at Ron.

"What were you thinking?" she hissed. "I am not going."

"What? Faith! You must go!"

"Faith is being smart, unlike you, Ron. She isn't going to break the rules." Hermione sniffed.

Ron ignored her. "If you don't go, he'll laugh at us."

"You're the one who foolishly accepted to meet at midnight. What makes you think _he_ is going to turn up? It might be a trap."

Ron looked shocked. "He wouldn't do that."

"Think about it, Ron; if he was certain he could beat me, he would have wanted everyone in school to see it. He wouldn't have chosen to fight at midnight. I am telling you, he probably isn't going."

Ron stared in bewilderment.

"At any rate, I am not going." Faith said in a tone that says 'And that's final' before heading out of the common room.

**XXXX**

All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day, Faith thought, as she walked down the long corridors for a late evening walk with Copper flying by her side. Hermione had spent all evening dogging her to make sure she wasn't going to change her mind and go. She lightly scoffed as she made it to the Clock Tower Courtyard. She sat on the fountain while Copper perched himself right beside her.

She began stroking his head as she looked up to the starry sky, trying to find the constellations when she heard footsteps. Looking forward, she saw someone she had least expected.

"Draco?" The pale blonde stood a few feet away from her, not wanting to come any closer. "What are you doing here?" He didn't reply right away as he tilted his head forward, throwing his face into shadows, and looked at her with an inscrutable expression.

"I... want to talk." Faith understood as she patted the space on her left. Once he sat down, they were engulfed in a peaceful silence.

"So what made you reconsider in being Sorted into Ravenclaw? Didn't you say you wanted to be in Slytherin like the rest of your family?"

"I've thought about what you said, Potter—on the train, I mean." He paused. "That's what got me into Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin."

Faith frowned. "I see. Though I'm pretty sure I said not to pretend someone you're not."

He sighed. "Actually, that's the point. I've always wanted to follow in my father's footsteps—get Sorted into Slytherin—but what you said in the train and at Diagon Alley made me realize I'm just fooling myself. What I want to be is not being my father's shadow but my very own person. So I pestered the Sorting Hat to not Sort me into Slytherin."

"Is that why the Sorting Hat was reluctant on saying Ravenclaw?"

"Yeah, he said that I have the true traits of a Slytherin with traits of Ravenclaw but seeing as I'm a Malfoy, I should be in Slytherin like the rest of my family."

Faith smiled as she rested a hand on his shoulder, "As you said, you are your own person and no one else."

The two chatted for a while when Professor Snape appeared.

"Sorry to interrupt." both Faith and Draco looked up to see the Potions Professor. "But might I have a word with you, Ms. Potter?"

"Yes Professor?" Faith asked.

Snape's eyes bored into hers. "A student had informed me that you had plans tonight at the Trophy room?"

Draco blinked before turning to Faith, "You were?"

Faith shook her head, "Of course not, I was invited but I wasn't planning on showing up."

Snape's lips curled into a small smile. It was so small that Faith almost couldn't see it.

"That was very – not Gryffindor of you, Ms. Potter. Five points to Gryffindor for display of traits from other Houses."

Before Faith could blink again, he was gone. Did he came to warn her of Nott's plot? And more amazingly...

"Did he just gave points to Gryffindor?" Faith asked.

"That's a first."

**XXXX**

Faith and Hermione were getting ready for bed when Parvati came in.

"Faith, Neville is looking for you. He said it was important, but he couldn't come up to the girl's dorm."

Hermione and Faith exchanged worried looks. After her talk with Draco, Faith had found Neville on the 4th floor. Madam Pomfrey had mended his arm in a minute, but he had gotten lost on the way back to Gryffindor's common room.

"What's wrong, Neville? Does your arm still hurt?" Hermione asked concerned when the two girls came down and saw a very worried Neville.

"N-no, my arm is fine. It's Ron."

"Ron? What happened to him?" Faith asked worriedly.

"What did he do this time?" asked Hermione.

"H-he went out, saying something about a duel."

"That idiot!" Faith shouted. "It's a trap! Nott wasn't planning to show up. He told the teachers that we would be a the trophy room at midnight."

Hermione went pale. "Filch!"

"What should we do? He can't be caught by Filch, who knows what he will do to him!" Neville wailed.

Faith began thinking. "Filch will probably be waiting at the trophy room and won't be doing his rounds properly because of Nott's tip-off. If we can find Ron before he reaches the trophy room, we can drag him back, without any of us getting caught." Faith turned to Neville, "When did he leave, Neville?"

"I came to you immediately after he left."

Faith sighed. "Then we can still catch up with him. Are you coming, Hermione?"

Hermione looked hesitant. "Okay, but only because I want to tell Ron exactly what I think of him."

The three Gryffindors flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight form the high windows. Even though Faith was pretty sure that Filch was at the trophy room, she was still afraid that they will run into him or Mrs Norris.

They found Ron at the third floor just a few corridors away from the trophy room.

"Ron!" Faith hissed.

The redhead jumped at his name, and whipped around. He relaxed at the sight of his friends.

"Oh, it's you. You scared me, I thought it was Filch. So did you decide to still come?"

"Of course not. We came to get you! It's a trap, Nott has warned Filch that there would be students at the trophy room."

"What?" Ron looked disbelievingly at them. "But–"

"Shush! We will explain later. We have to get out of here!" Faith said.

Then a noise made them jump.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris. Horror-struck, Faith waved madly at the other two to follow her as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped around the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."

"This way!" Faith mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run—he tripped, grabbed a suit of armor to stop himself, and toppled right into a second suit of armor.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

"RUN!" Faith yelled, and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following—the swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Faith in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going. Then, up ahead, was a figure who was gesturing them through a secret passageway. They ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

"I think we've lost him," Faith panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping her forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.

"You don't say." they looked up to see Draco. "If I didn't follow you, you'll be a whole lot of trouble."

"Thanks, Draco." Faith said. "You came at the right time. Who knows what Filch would do if he caught us."

Ron, though wheezing, stared incredulously at the sight of Malfoy and Faith talking leisurely like that of two good friends. Ever since the Sorting, Ron didn't hate Malfoy as much as he did before, that is now Nott's position.

"Since when did you two became such good friends?"

"Since just now."

After they rested for a bit, the three Gryffindors glared at the redhead. "Now do you believe us?" Hermione said. Ron nodded.

"We'd better get back to our dormitories," said Draco. "Gryffindor's to the right off the end of this corridor, isn't it? Ravenclaw's the opposite way."

"Yeah—let's go."

It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.

It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

"Shut up, Peeves—please—you'll get us thrown out."

Peeves cackles.

"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"I'll have my father get someone in to exorcise you if you don't _get out of the way_," Draco snarled, taking a swipe at Peeves—this was a big mistake.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!:

Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door—and it was locked.

"We're done for!" Neville moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, "This is the end!"

They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeves' shouts.

"Oh, move over," Hermione said sharply. She tapped her wand to the lock and whispered "_Alohomora_!"

The lock clicked and the door swung open—they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."

"Say 'please.' "

"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now _where did they go_?"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.

"All right—_please_."

"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

"He thinks this door is locked," Faith whispered. "I think we'll be okay—get _off_, Nev!" For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Faith's robe for the last minute. "_What_?"

Faith turned around—and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, she was sure she'd walked into a nightmare—this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.

They weren't in a room, as she had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Faith knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

Faith groped for the doorknob—between Filch and death, she'd take Filch.

They fell backward—Faith slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared—all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor, and Faith didn't even notice when Draco broke off from them to go to the Ravenclaw common room.

"Where on earth have you two been?" she asked, looking at their robes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

"Never mind that—pig snout, pig snout," panted Faith, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs. It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never speak again.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Ron finally. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."

Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again. "You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"The floor?" Faith suggested.

"I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads." Ron wheezed.

"No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something." She stood up, glaring at them. "I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed — or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed." Ron stared after her, his mouth open.

"No, we don't mind," he said. "You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you."

But Hermione had given Faith something else to think about as she climbed back into bed. The dog was guarding something… What had Hagrid said? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide — except perhaps Hogwarts. It looked as though Faith had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.


	10. Halloween

~Chapter 10: Halloween~

* * *

Nott looked quite surprised to see that Faith was still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful. Indeed, by the next morning Faith thought that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure (she hadn't had any nightmares at all) and she was quite keen to have another one, although maybe not so close to giant teeth next time.

Right now, the four Gryffindors were sitting around the courtyard with Draco. They might seem a bit strange to the other students but they didn't care.

Faith filled them in about Hagrid had taken something from Gringotts to be brought to Hogwarts, and they spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy protection.

"It's either really valuable or really dangerous," said Draco.

"Or both," said Faith.

But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was something Hagrid could carry in his pocket for Faith hadn't seen him carrying any large packages, they didn't have much chance of guessing what it was without further clues.

They continued meeting by the lake for lunch on sunny days, although on rainy days they stayed in the Great Hall, and it was on one such day a week later that Faith and Hermione had just sat down to breakfast when the mail came in.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. Faith was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel, and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of her, knocking her bacon to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

Faith ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said:

_DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE._

_It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session._

_Professor M. McGonagall_

Faith had difficulty hiding her glee as she handed the note to Hermione and then Neville to read.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand—wow," said Neville. "That's the newest one, isn't it, supposed to be their best yet."

Hermione gave her a severe look. "Don't think this is a reward for breaking the rules, do you?"

"Lighten up, Hermione," said Faith, her heart lighter than air, elbowing the other girl in the ribs. "It's not for breaking the rules—it's for being the best Seeker the Professor's ever seen. Come on, I want to look at it."

Neville stayed to finish eating, but Faith and Hermione left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broom in private before their first class, but halfway across the entrance hall they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Nott. Nott seized the package from Faith and felt it.

"That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back to Faith with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face. "You'll be in for it this time, Potter. First years aren't allowed them."

Faith rolled her eyes. "Don't worry about _me_, Nott," she said. "Everything's taken care of."

Before Nott could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at his elbow.

"Not arguing, I hope?" he squeaked.

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Nott quickly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Faith. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Ms. Potter. And what model is it?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," said Faith, fighting not to laugh at the look of outrage on Nott's face. "And it's really thanks to Nott here that I've got it," she added.

Faith and Hermione headed upstairs, Faith smothering laughter and Hermione shaking her head in prim disapproval.

"You shouldn't provoke him like that, Faith," she reproved. "That just brings you down to his level."

Faith shrugged. "I suppose. But it's true—if he hadn't stolen Nev's Remembrall, I wouldn't be on the team."

Faith had a lot of trouble keeping her mind on her lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the dormitory where her new broomstick was lying under her bed, or straying off to the Quidditch field where she'd be learning to play that night. She bolted her dinner that evening without noticing what she was eating, and then rushed upstairs to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at last. Hermione declined to accompany her, citing the need to look through just _one more_ book for more information on the essay Professor Binns had assigned.

"Wow," Faith sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto her bedspread.

Faith, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top.

As seven o'clock drew nearer, Faith left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch field. She'd never been inside the stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Faith of the little bubble blowers, except that they were fifty feet high.

Too eager to fly again to wait for Wood, Faith mounted her broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling—she swooped in and out of the goal posts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever she wanted at her lightest touch.

"Hey, Potter, come down!"

Oliver Wood had arrived. He was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. Faith dived and landed neatly next to him.

"Very nice," said Wood, his eyes glinting. "I see what McGonagall meant…you really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you'll be joining team practice three times a week."

He opened the crate. Inside were four different-sized balls.

"Right," said Wood. "Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it's not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers."

Faith, who had read about Quidditch before, nodded as Wood took out a bright red ball about the size of a football. "Three Chasers."

"This ball's called the Quaffle," said Wood. "The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try to get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Follow me?"

"The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score," Faith recited. "So—it's sort of like basketball with six hoops, is it?"

"What's basketball?" said Wood curiously.

"Muggle sport—not important," said Faith quickly.

"Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper—I'm Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring."

"Three Chasers, one Keeper," said Faith, squinting. "And they play with the Quaffle—got it. So what are they for?" She pointed at the three balls left inside the box.

"I'll show you now," said Wood. "Take this."

He handed Faith a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat.

"I'm going to show you what the Bludgers do," Wood said. "These two are the Bludgers."

He showed Faith two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. Faith noticed that they seemed to be straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box.

"Stand back," Wood warned Faith. He bent down and freed one of the Bludgers.

At once, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight at Faith's face. Faith side-stepped and swung at it with the bat to stop it from breaking her nose, and sent it zigzagging away into the air—it zoomed around their heads and then shot at Wood, who dove on top of it and managed to pin it to the ground.

"See?" Wood panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. "The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beaters on each team—the Weasley twins are ours—it's their job to protect their side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So—think you've got all that?"

"Basketball-slash-Dodgeball on broomsticks," said Faith, laughing, "This is going to be _fun_! Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the goal posts; the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team."

"Very good," said Wood. "Dodgeball, is that another Muggle sport?"

"Yes," said Faith. "Er—have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?" Faith asked, hoping she sounded offhand.

"Never at Hogwarts. We've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That's you. And you don't have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers—"

"—unless they crack my head open."

"Don't worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers—I mean, they're like a pair of human Bludgers themselves."

Wood reached into the crate and took out the last ball. Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings.

"_This_," said Wood, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch because it's so fast and difficult to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You've got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team's Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his—or her—team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That's why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages—I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing in substitutes so the players could get some sleep."

"Well, that's it—any questions?" Faith shook her head. "We won't practice with the Snitch yet," said Wood, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, "It's too dark, we might lose it. Let's try you out with a few of these."

He pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his pocket and a few minutes later, he and Faith were up in the air, Wood throwing the golf balls as hard as he could in every direction for Faith to catch.

Faith didn't miss a single one, and Wood was delighted. After half an hour, night had really fallen and they couldn't carry on.

"That Quidditch Cup'll have our name on it this year," said Wood happily as they trudged back up to the castle. "I wouldn't be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons."

**XXXX**

Perhaps it was because she was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice three evenings a week on top of her study group and homework, but Faith could hardly believe it when she realized that she'd already been at Hogwarts two months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had. Her lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now that they had mastered the basics.

On Halloween morning, they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they'd seen him make Neville's toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Faith's partner was Seamus Finnegan while Neville is with Dean Thomas. Hermione, however, was partnered with Ron. It was hard to tell whether Hermione or Ron was angrier about this.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too—never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

It was very difficult. Faith and Seamus swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop. Seamus got so impatient that he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it—Faith had to put it out with her hat.

At the next table, Ron wasn't having much more luck.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!" he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," Hermione snapped. "It's Wing-_gar_-dium Levi-_oh_-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her robe, flicked her wand, and said, "_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"

Ron was in a very bad mood by the end of the class.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her," he said to Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor, "She's a nightmare, honestly. How did Faith put up with her?"

Hermione looked like she was about to cry, and rushed past the three boys, clutching her books to her chest. Faith frowned and hastened after her, just in time to hear Ron continue:

"She must've noticed she's got no friends."

Faith turned around and fixed the redhead her fiercest glare. "Seriously, Ron Weasley?! I didn't know you're such a jerk!" Said Weasley shrunk back. "Hermione is just trying to help you and this is how you thanked her?! You're no better than the Slytherins!"

With that, Faith ran off to find the bushy-haired girl. But she lost Hermione somewhere between Charms and their next class, and didn't want to be late looking for her when they had the same schedule anyways. Unfortunately, Hermione didn't show up to that class—provoking Professor McGonagall to ask Faith after class where she was—and Faith didn't see her the rest of that afternoon.

**XXXX**

On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, hoping Hermione would show up, Faith and Neville overheard Parvati telling Lavender that Hermione was crying in the girls' loo (the one on the second floor, nearest the Great Hall) and wanted to be left alone. Faith would've smacked herself; how could she have forgotten to check the loo? It seemed Ron overheard this as well, for he looked very awkward and somewhat regretful (either from Faith's earlier outburst or the guilt had finally set in).

"I'm going to go get Hermione," said Faith, stopping at the doors of the Great Hall, looking around in awe at the thousands of live bats and dozens of Jack-o-lanterns. "You go on, Nev—save us a place, will you, and make sure Weasley and company don't eat all the food?"

"Yeah, sure," said Neville.

Faith ducked around a group of Hufflepuffs, slipped through a deserted side corridor, and hurried off toward the girls' loo. It didn't take her long to get there.

"Hermione?" she called. "Are you in here?"

There was a sniffling sound from one of the stalls, and Hermione's voice said weakly, "Leave me alone, Faith."

Faith went to the closed stall and knocked on it. "No, I'm not leaving, Hermione—I didn't realize you were in here all afternoon, I looked everywhere else, I still can't believe you weren't in the library…"

"What, you think I'm a know-it-all too?" said Hermione bitterly. "Everyone always does, and then they don't want to be my friend…what's wrong with learning? I _like _to learn…"

"Nothing's wrong with learning," said Faith, taken by surprise. "I don't think you're a know-it-all—you're a little bossy, sure, but I like being your friend! Ron doesn't know what he's missing."

Hermione sniffed a couple times, and her voice was small when she asked, "Really?"

"Really, really," said Faith as she placed an arm around her shoulders. "Besides, you shouldn't take Ron seriously. He is a boy, they don't know what they are saying most of the time."

"I-I don't e-even know why I'm crying, F-Faith." Hermione sobbed. "I d-don't care what R-Ron thinks. S-So why can't I stop crying?"

"Obviously, you do care about him, that's why you're so hurt. Ron is really sorry, he didn't mean to hurt you. He just doesn't know how to apologize to you."

"But he's r-right, you know?" Hermione looked up at Faith through her tears. "I-I've never had friends even at elementary school. They all thought I was a know-it-all."

She broke down crying again.

Faith handed her a handkerchief. "I've never had friends either. Dudley bullied them away and most of the kids thought I was a nerd. So we are the same, Hermione." Hermione sobbed. "Those kids from elementary school were too immature to be friends with us, Hermione. And really I have read that most of the elementary school friendships don't last anyway. You have me now, Hermione. Neville and Draco. Even Ron, did you know he sulked for three hours every time you ignored him? It drove Neville crazy."

Hermione gave Faith small smile.

"T-thanks, Faith."

"Don't mention it. Are you feeling better? There's a whopping great feast waiting for us in the Great Hall—Nev's saving us a couple of seats."

Faith didn't like the idea of celebrating the day her parents died—but it was Halloween. And the Great Hall was already decorated, the food already made; no point in putting all that effort to waste.

"All right," said Hermione. "Parvati was in here earlier, I told _her_ to go away and she listened, why didn't you…"

"Because I'm your _friend_, Hermione," said Faith, hugging her. "Friends look out for each other. Come on, wash up, the Halloween feast's waiting…you should see the decorations…"

And then they heard it—a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Faith turned slowly to look at the door, where something huge had appeared.

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite grey, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.

"Hermione," said Faith as quietly as she could, "tell me that's not what I think it is…"

"If you think it's a troll—" said Hermione, her face pale, "—then you're right."

The troll saw them and stopped, looking puzzled. Faith grabbed onto Hermione's hand as they slowly inched towards the door.

"When I say 'run', we'll bolt out of here." said Faith as they neared the door. 3...2...1... "RUN!"

They started running. The troll moved slowly because of his weight but his long legs made up for that. running down the corridor filled with suits of armor, Faith flung one armor into him. But the troll just waved it away with his arm like it was a fly.

They were still running for their lives when they heard other running steps coming towards them. They belonged to Neville and Draco. And Ron.

"Guys!" Hermione and Faith screamed at the same time.

"Don't just stand there, keep running!" Faith shouted frantically, looking back at the troll.

"There's a troll." Hermione gasped as each grabbed onto the boys' arms, tugging at them to make them turn in the direction away from the troll.

"We wanted to warn you!" Draco said.

"There's a troll!" Ron yelled at the same time.

"In Hogwarts!" Neville shouted.

"I think we got that when we saw it in the girl's restroom!" Faith shouted.

They heard a loud roar behind them. The troll had stepped onto the spiked ball of one of the suits which Faith had flung at him.

"T-that's the troll?" Ron stuttered, his eyes wide as he dodged a metal arm being thrown at them by the troll.

"Look out!" Faith then felt herself being pushed down to the ground when a suit of armor flew over their heads, missing them by a hair's breath. "That was close." came Draco's voice as he helped Faith up.

The five first years were about to run again when they felt the troll right behind them.

"Any ideas?" Ron asked, eyes wide in fear.

At that moment, as if hearing Ron's plea, Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape appeared, wands drawn, with Quirrell behind them.

"We're saved!" Ron exclaimed but too soon as the troll came lumbering by and went to grab one of the students, naming Hermione.

Faith, seeing what the troll was about to do, pulled the girl out of its reach but was grabbed instead. "Whoa!"

"Faith!"

"Hey, let go of me!" She kicked and flailed her arms around as the troll kept her hostage. "A little help would be nice!"

"Let go of her this instance!" Professor McGonagall cast a spell on the troll but it didn't see to be affected as it continued its way back to wherever it had come from. "It's no good. A simple spell won't suffice against a mountain troll."

"But there must be something we can do!" Hermione said. "Where is it taking her anyways?"

"It is better you don't know." Snape said, eyes focusing on the giant beast.

Faith struggled in its grip, she would have used her wand if the troll wasn't holding her so tightly and her wand painfully poking her back. The professors, excluding Quirrell who is busy cowering behind, sent spell after spell to attract its attention but it seems to be interested in the girl in its large hand. Her friends tried calling it names but it seems trolls are even stupider to not know that they're being insulted.

"I said, let go of me!"

Her shouting must have irritated the troll as it suddenly swung its large arm around, almost clobbering Draco and Neville with its club and toppling a few armors of Ron and Hermione when they tried to get closer. Though the pale blonde did get hit back by its arms.

Seeing this, Faith felt an uncontrollable anger in her. "How dare you?!"

If there is one thing you need to learn about Faith is to never let her reach her limit.

With unbelievable strength, even for her, Faith managed to get out of its grip. "This is the last straw!" Then she fixed the troll with the same fierce glare she gave to Ron but with the addition of a growl. The troll grunted loudly as it raised his club over its head but Faith suddenly gave out a loud dragon-like roar, stunning the beast and the magical folks nearby.

Grabbing a lump of its saggy skin, she pulled the troll down to her eye level. "Listen here! I don't take kindly to anyone who hurts my friends! So you better get your saggy lump of fats out of Hogwarts, or I won't hesitate to turn you into scrap meat! Did I make myself clear?" the troll nodded. Faith then let go of its skin. "Now leave and never come back."

After giving it a parting roar as a last warning, they watched the troll quickly lumbered back to wherever it had come from. Taking deep breaths, Faith could feel the sudden boiling feeling in her simmered away as she turned back to her friends who were wide-jawed.

"That. Was. Amazing!" Ron said. "You scared that troll away!"

"I have to say, Ron's right. No First Year could do that." Draco said. "So how did you do it?"

"Not only that, but did you actually roar like a dragon?" Hermione said. "It sounded so real! As if there's a real dragon in here."

Faith frowned, "To be honest... I have no idea."

**XXXX**

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. After the whole troll incident, Faith and her friends were escorted down the long corridors so no one would hear them. To say Professor McGonagall is furious would be an understatement."You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Professor Snape gave Faith a swift, piercing look. Faith looked at the floor. Quirrell had long gone to inform the headmaster that the troll had left the school.

"Hermione and I were in the girl's restroom, that's why we didn't hear about the troll. We were going to head back to the Great Hall, I assure you but before we got out, the troll was already behind us and we ran out of there ever since. The boys had found us to warn us about it, but with it still chasing us, we kept running until here... and you know the rest..."

"Well—in that case…" said Professor McGonagall, staring at the four of them, "You each win Gryffindor and Ravenclaw five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You were very lucky today. Not many people could have survived an encounter with a full-grown mountain troll. But I must warn you not to do anything stupid like this again. Now you'd better get off to your respective houses. Students are finishing the feast in their houses."

"Yes, ma'am." they said before they left.

"Just a minute, Ms. Potter." Professor McGonagall said. "I would like to have a word with you."

Faith nodded before gesturing her friends to go ahead. "Is something wrong, ma'am?"

The look on both Professor's faces told her there is something wrong. After a silent agreement between the two, the bespectacled witch gestured the girl to follow her.

After crossing many stone stairways, they finally stopped before a large, ugly stone gargoyle. The professor then said with evident distaste: "Sherbet lemon." The gargoyle sprang to life and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase which was moving smoothly upwards. Professor McGonagall stepped on it and Faith quickly followed, she heard the wall close behind them. They rose upwards in circles, higher and higher, until at last they were in front of a gleaming oak door, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffon.

Professor McGonagall rapped on the door and it opened silently.

One thing was certain: of all the teachers' offices Faith had visited so far this year, Dumbledore's was by far the most interesting. If she hadn't been scared out of her wits that she was about to be thrown out of the school, she would have been very pleased to have a chance to look around it. It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tainted wizard's hat - the Sorting Hat.

On a golden perch next to the Headmaster's desk sat a beautiful bird, with a wonderful red and gold plumage. "Wow, a phoenix." Faith breathed, staring at the mythical creature in admiration.

Faith heard a cough and a chuckle. She tore her eyes away from the phoenix and looked at Professor McGonagall, who was staring at her with mild amusement. She stood in front of the desk and in front of the chuckling headmaster.

"Phoenixes are fascinating creatures, aren't they, Faith?" Professor Dumbledore asked with a gentle smile.

Faith gave an embarrassed smile. "Yes, headmaster. She is beautiful."

Professor Dumbledore laughed. "Fawkes is a male, Faith. But yes, he is indeed very handsome."

Faith felt her cheeks heat up. "Oh, I am sorry." she said to the phoenix.

Fawkes simply trilled a happy tune before rubbing his head on her outstretched hand. Faith assumed that she was forgiven. The Headmaster laughed again. "I think he likes you. Come, sit down, my dear." Faith sat down beside Professor McGonagall. "Now what brings you here, Minerva?"

"I supposed you know about the troll, yes?"

"Ah, yes. Professor Quirrell had informed me of what happened." Dumbledore said. "Faith here had scared the troll away. Such a remarkable feat for a first year such as herself."

"There's more, Albus. It seems she has been... awaken." the Transfiguration Professor said grimly. The headmaster nodded his head before setting his eyes on Faith.

"Yes, I can see that. She is starting to take after _her_, wouldn't you agree?"

"But isn't it too early? She hasn't fully grasp her present heritage. How is she going to cope with another?"

Faith, who had been quietly listening to them, raised a brow. Did she have another heritage other than being the daughter of two famous wizards and being the Girl-Who-Lived?

"If Faith is anything like her mother was, she can handle it." Dumbledore said with finality. He then turned to Faith. "Now my dear, this might come to you as a shock but do not be too alarmed." she nodded. "Well, you—my dear Faith—are a Dragonian."


	11. Quidditch

~Chapter 11: Quidditch~

* * *

"A D-Dragonian?"

"I know it sounds shocking to you, Faith." Dumbledore said. "But it wouldn't be too surprising. What with your mother being one herself."

"Wait, mom was a... Dragonian?! Besides that, what is a Dragonian?"

"A race of human-dragon hybrids. They started many eons ago when a dragon mated with a witch, so the legend goes." McGonagall said.

Faith was trying to imagine it but stopped when she couldn't, "I can't imagine how their wedding looks like. So does that mean I'm half-dragon?"

"That is correct, Ms. Potter. Though your mother wasn't really a full-blood Dragonian as she was saved by one when she was a teenager. They gave her their blood to help her survive after she had suffered severe wounds during the battle against... You-Know-Who."

Faith nodded.

"She is, what they call, an Artificial Dragonian: One who was given the Dragon's Blood." Dumbledore said. "While you, my dear, are a Full Blood: One born With the Dragon's Blood."

"W-Wait a minute! How can you be sure I'm pure-blooded? As far as I know, I could be an Artificial like mom!"

"Though your mother is one, she still has Dragonian blood in her. And she gave birth to you, you have the same blood as every Dragonian child has. Thus making you pure-blooded." he then chuckled at her confused face. "Tell me, have you experienced anything unusual? Doing things that even skilled wizards couldn't do?"

Faith furrowed her brows as she went into deep thought, "Well... I'm friends with all kinds of animals." he nodded. "And... I can see clearly in the dark. And I used to wear glasses but my eyesight seems to have improve tremendously without any medical attention. And I have a large build-up of electrical discharges? Do those count?"

"Of course they do." McGonagall said. "Dragonians are nature's protectors and they have special bonds to animals. And not only do they have excellent vision, they also have excellent night-vision for some only hunt at night. An Artificial has none of them except they do possess the Dragonian's superb healing abilities and strength."

"Then what about my discharges?" Faith asked as electricity sparked around her after the potion had worn off.

"That is your element going out of control, Ms. Potter. It was recorded that Dragonians each have their own elementals such as the original four: Fire, Water, Earth, Air. While there are others like Wood, Metal, Light and Darkness. It seems yours is of one of the rarer ones; Lightning."

"Lightning..." Faith muttered as she absent-mindedly touched her scar on her temple. "Was mom's elemental... the same?"

"No. Hers is of Light. Another of the more rarer ones." the stern professor said. "I know you want to learn more about this new heritage of yours but it's getting late and you still need to train for the upcoming Quidditch Tournament."

Faith nodded. She rose from her seat and thanked the headmaster. She was then escorted back to her dorm where Hermione had fallen asleep with the rest of their roommates. She have no doubt tomorrow, she'll be bombarded with questions. Still she was debating on whether to tell her friends about her new discovery.

"I'll tell them when I'm ready."

**XXXX**

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy grey and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaverskin boots.

As soon as the weather turned cold, Draco refused to spend a minute outside that he didn't have to, so their lunches by the lake stopped and Draco went back to sitting alone at the Ravenclaw table. Although now that he had been seen in the company of Gryffindors, the other Ravenclaws seemed more willing to talk to him, and he started walking around with Terry Boot and Morag MacDougal. Faith was happy to see him finally having friends in his own house, though they did meet at some point in time to chat. Faith had thought about telling Draco first since, well, he's Draco... pun intended.

But she had something else to focus on: the Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Faith would be playing in her first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the House Championship.

Hardly anyone had seen Faith play because Wood had decided that, as their secret weapon, Faith should be kept, well, secret. But the news that she was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, and Faith didn't know which was worse—people telling her she'd be brilliant or people telling her they'd be running around underneath her with a mattress.

It was really lucky that Faith had Hermione as a friend. She didn't know how she'd have gotten through all her homework without Hermione, what with all the last-minute Quidditch practice Wood was making them do. Hermione had also lent her _Quidditch Through the Ages_, which turned out to be a very interesting read.

Faith learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert. (Faith decided immediately upon reading about it that she would _never_ become a Quidditch referee).

Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Faith, Neville, Draco and Ron had saved her from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer for it. true to Faith's thoughts, her friends did asked about what the professors wanted with her so she told them that they went to visit the headmaster to confirm their troll incident. Leaving out the parts about her new found heritage.

One night, however, gave Faith a few more questions to ask. She was walking down the corridor back to her Potions classroom as she had accidentally left her Potions book behind during her rush to training. She had rounded a corner when she almost bumped into Snape.

"Ms. Potter, what are you doing up and about?" he sneered.

"Um, I came to get my book back..." she softly said. "I'm really sorry. I was rushing to Quidditch training for the upcoming tournament that I left it on my desk so-"

She was cut off when her said book appeared in her face. "I believe this is what you're looking for." Faith gratefully took her book and bowed in gratitude before she caught sight of a long wound on his right leg.

"Sir, are you alright? That looked quite painful."

"Yes, a bit of an accident with a potion one of the student had created but it's nothing to be of concern about." he said. "Now you're way past curfew. I would have deduct five points from Gryffindor but since you have a reasonable excuse, I'll let it slide. You may go."

Faith dumbly nodded before rushing back to the dorm. She was still wondering about his wound... it looked like a slash wound.

**XXXX**

Faith, Hermione, Neville, Draco and Ron sat together next to a window in the library. Hermione was checking Faith and Ron's Charms homework for them, while Neville looked over his own, which she had already gone through. Draco was busy with his Transfiguration essay.

Faith had told them about her meeting with Snape and the mysterious wound on his leg, which Hermione concluded that it was a work of a Cerberus. Which also caused Ron to think Snape was the one who let the troll out that Halloween night.

"I don't think Professor Snape's an evil guy, Ron." Faith said. "I mean, sure he's a bit unreasonable but he's not that bad. Besides, he stopped picking on us, hasn't he?"

Ron had discovered that being friends with Hermione definitely had its advantages, his brothers never prank him while he was hanging around the girls, his grades had improved and Snape wasn't glaring at him anymore, he still sneered at him during the Potions lessons and still deducted points, but at least the greasy git wasn't glaring at him during the meals anymore, which was a relief. You wouldn't believe how difficult it is to enjoy your meal which dark, brooding eyes boring into your head, as if they wanted to check which parts of you could be used for potions. Yes, being friends with Hermione had certainly helped his appetite.

Ron snorted. "The great bat not evil? I will never believe it. He was probably the one who let the troll inside the school."

"I don't think that's true either. I mean, wasn't Professor Snape at the feast? How could he have let the troll in? And wasn't he with Professor McGonagall and Professor Quirrell?" Faith reasoned.

"Yeah but he could have broken off from them during the panic."

Faith shook her head. "No—I still don't think he's the one that let in the troll. He's not _nice_ but he's only strict because Potions is a very dangerous subject."

Neville nodded. "Yeah—look what happened to me, that first lesson, I messed up and then got covered in a potion that made me break out in boils. That was painful."

Ron shook his head. "He must be! Who else could it be? Q-Q-Quirrell?" he asked, mocking the young teacher's stutter. "And what else could he have been doing, going up against that dog? What's that dog guarding?"

"I think I know. When Hagrid and I went to Gringotts, he went to another vault while I went to mine. I saw that he had retrieved a little package. He told me it was some secret business for Professor Dumbledore. And then I read in the Daily Prophet that someone broke in Gringotts on 31 July, but that the vault that was broken into had been emptied that same day. So I figured it might be the secret package that the intruder wanted."

Hermione nodded. "That makes sense."

"But the question now is-" Draco asked.

"What is in the package." Ron finished.

"And who is after it." Neville added.

**XXXX**

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

"You've got to eat some breakfast."

"I don't want anything."

"Just a bit of toast," wheedled Hermione.

"I'm not hungry."

Faith felt terrible. In an hour's time, she'd be walking onto the field.

"Faith, you need your strength," said Seamus Finnegan. "Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."

"Thanks, Seamus," said Faith, watching Seamus pile ketchup on his sausages. "I feel so much better."

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Neville, Hermione, and Ron joined Seamus and Dean the West Ham fan up in the top row. As a surprise for Faith, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets that Ron's rat Scabbers had ruined. It said _Potter for President_ and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors.

Meanwhile, in the changing rooms, Faith and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherins are playing in their green ones). While Oliver was saying his usual speech, with Fred, George and Angelina helping and interrupting him. Alicia and Katie were giving Faith a pep talk as she tied her hair into twin braids.

"I was also very nervous at my first Quidditch game, but that had been completely unnecessary." Alicia assured her.

"Was it a good game?" Faith asked.

"I don't know. I was hit by a bludger thirty seconds after the game had begun, and woke up after the game had ended. Gryffindor won." Alicia shrugged.

Katie hit her on her head. "Very reassuring, Alicia." She turned to Faith. "Don't worry, Faith. I stayed conscious during _my_ first Quidditch game."

Faith gulped. She managed to hear the last few words of Oliver's speech. "Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you. Faith, don't fall of your broom, don't be hit by bludgers, and _please_, for Merlin's sake, _stay conscious _if you are hit. We can afford to lose a chaser but not a seeker."

Faith followed Fred and George out of the locker room and, hoping her knees weren't going to give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were gathered around her. Faith noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a fifth year. Faith thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing _Potter for President _over the crowd. Her heart skipped. She felt braver.

"Mount your brooms, please."

Faith clambered onto her Nimbus Two Thousand.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor—what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too—"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood, last year only a reserve—back to Johnson and—no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes—Flint flying like an eagle p there—he's going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by the Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle—that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and—OUCH—that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger—Quaffle taken by the Slytherins—that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger—sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which—nice play by the Gryfindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes—she's really flying—dodges a speeding Bludger—the goal posts are ahead—come on, now, Angelina—Keeper Bletchley dives—misses—GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Gryffindor cheers filed the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!"

Neville, Ron, and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.

"Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, "But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

"Nope," said Ron. "Faith hasn't had much to do yet."

"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Faith.

Way up above them, Faith was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of her and Wood's game plan.

"Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch," Wood had said. "We don't want you attacked before you have to be."

When Angelina had scored, Faith had done a couple of loop-the-loops to let off her feelings. Now she was back to staring around for the Snitch but with her eyesight, thanks to her Dragonian blood, she would easily spot the Snitch. Once she caught sight of a flash of gold, but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys' wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to come pelting her way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Faith dodged it and Fred Weasley came chasing after it.

"All right there, Faith?" he had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger furiously toward Marcus Flint.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the—wait a moment—was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Faith saw it. In a great rush of excitement, she dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck, they hurtled toward the Snitch—all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Faith was faster than Higgs—she could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead—she put on an extra burst of speed—

She saw something flashed towards her so she did a sharp barrel roll. A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below—Marcus Flint had blocked Faith on purpose, but luckily Faith saw it coming as she dodged his charge, though she almost fell off her broom due to her sitting sideways as she usually do.

"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared again.

Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, "Send him off, ref! Red card!"

"What are you talking about, Dean?" said Ron.

"Red card!" said Dean furiously. "In football you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"

"This isn't soccer, Dean," Ron reminded him.

Hagrid, however, was on Dean's side.

"They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Faith outta the air."

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

"So—after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating—"

"Jordan!"

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul—"

"_Jordan, I'm warning you_—"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

It was as Faith dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past her head, that it happened. Her broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, she thought she was going to fall. She gripped the broom tightly with both her hands. She'd never felt anything like that, except maybe that time when Uncle Vernon took the Dursley's and her on that trip to that shack on the rock during a stormy weather when the sea was very choppy.

It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck her off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Faith tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goal posts—she had half a mind to ask Wood to call time-out—and then she realized that her broom was completely out of her control. She couldn't turn it. She couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated her.

Lee was still commentating.

"Slytherin in possession—Flint with the Quaffle—passes Spinnet—passes Bell—hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose—only joking, Professor—Slytherins score—oh no…"

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Faith's broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying her slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

"Dunno what Faith thinks she's doing," Hagrid mumbled. He stared through his binoculars. "If I didn' know better, I'd say she lost contro of her broom…but she can't have…"

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Faith all over the stands. Her broom had started to roll over and over, with her only just managing to hold on by hugging the handle. Then the whole crowd gasped. Faith's broom had given a wild jerk and Faith almost swung off it but still hung on with her legs. She was now dangling from it, holding on with her legs like a flying trapeze. Good thing she was wearing shorts instead of her skirt.

Faith then tried to swing back up as her hands grabbed the broom handle. She was almost halfway up when her broom started to vibrate, and whirled around in circles, vibrating so hard that it was almost impossible for her to hold on any longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Faith safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good—every time they got near her, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath her, obviously hoping to catch her if she fell. Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

Faith was about to give up and drop and hope the Weasley twins caught her when suddenly she was able to clamber back on, her broom behaving once more. But only once it gave a harder and wilder jerk, causing the reddish-haired to fall. Then she saw a streak of gold flying around her, despite the speedy thing zooming about before she grabbed the thing. Then, encasing the object in her hands, she squeezed her eyes close, awaiting the ground below her.

"Catch her!" Oliver was screaming. The entire Gryffindor team rushed to catch their seeker. It was impossible to tell who caught Faith in the end, as they were all huddled together and Faith just fell in the midst. It was also impossible to tell who hugged her tightest after they had landed safely on the ground.

"Oh, Oliver. I caught the Snitch." Haley remembered, while she was being hugged to death by the Weasley twins. She held her palm up, the Golden Snitch was resting peacefully on her hand.

"How the hell did you manage to catch that bloody thing, while you were being flung around by your broom?" Fred asked her. While Oliver was staring at her in a strange mix of incredulity and happiness.

"I saw it when I fell and I just, you know, grabbed it." Faith said, now being hugged to death by an ecstatic Oliver.

"FAITH POTTER CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY POINTS TO SIXTY!" Lee Jordan happily announced.

Neville, Hermione, Draco and Ron ran towards Faith. And for the seventh time in less than ten minutes, Faith was being hugged again, this time by Hermione. She was then made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut, with Hermione, Neville, Draco and Ron.

"It was Snape," Ron was explaining, "Hermione and I saw him—Neville couldn't tear his eyes away from you, Faith. Snape was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

Faith, Neville, Ron, Draco and Hermione looked at one another, wondering what to tell him. Faith decided on the truth.

"I found out something about him," she told Hagrid. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We—well, Ron does, I'm not sure I really believe it—we think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid dropped the teapot.

"How do you know about Fluffy?" he said.

"_Fluffy_?" Draco said in disbelief.

"Yeah—he's mine—bought him of a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year—I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—"

"Yes?" said Faith eagerly.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"But Snape's trying to _steal_ it."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Faith?" cried Draco.

The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have changed her mind about Professor Snape, but Faith still wasn't sure.

"I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don' know why Faith's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try and kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh—yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel—"

"Fine, Hagrid," said Faith, standing up. "We'll leave it alone—we won't try to get past that dog, that's for sure."

"Thank yeh, Faith," said Hagrid, looking vastly relieved, not even realizing he had slipped out a valid point.

The five shared a look. Now they knew something else: someone called Nicolas Flamel was involved.


	12. The Mirror of Erised

~Chapter 12: The Mirror of Erised~

* * *

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowball so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.

Professor McGonagall had come around the week before, making a list of students who would be staying for the holidays, and Faith had signed up at once. She didn't feel sorry for herself at all; this would probably be the best Christmas she'd ever had. Ron and his brothers were staying too, because their parents were going to Romania to visit Ron's older brother Charlie, who worked on a dragon reserve. Neville and Hermione, however, were both going home to celebrate Christmas with their families.

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.

"Hi, Hagrid, want any help?" Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches,

"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron."

"Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Nott's slightly nasal voice from behind them. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose—that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to.

Hermione and Faith both grabbed one of Ron's arms, preventing him from diving at Nott, just as Professor Snape came up the stairs. His eyes narrowed and he shot Faith an inscrutable look.

"Fighting is against Hogwarts rules," Professor Snape said silkily. "Five points from Gyffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you."

"He was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. "Nott was insultin' his family."

"Be that as it may," Professor Snape said softly.

Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.

"I'll get him," said Ron, grinding his teeth at Nott's back, "one of these days, I'll get him—"

"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid. "Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat."

So the four of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.

"Ah, Hagrid, the last tree—put it in the far corner, would you?"

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

"How many days you got left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked.

"Just one," said Hermione. "And that reminds me—Faith, Neville, Ron, we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library."

"Oh yeah, you're right," said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

"The library?" said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. "Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"

"Oh, yes," Faith told him brightly. She knew that Hagrid wouldn't like it if he knew what they were really up to, so she didn't tell him. "Just trying to get all our work done before the holidays begin, that way we're not bogged down with work on Christmas or New Year's."

"Good on yeh," said Hagrid, and they hurried off to the library.

They had been searching books for Nicolas Flamel's name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Professor Snape might or might not be trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn't in _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century_, or _Notable Magical Names of Our Time_; he was missing, too, from _Important Modern Magical Discoveries_, and _A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry_. And then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows.

Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to search and Neville helped her while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random. Faith wandered over to the Restricted Section. She had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books, and she knew she'd never get one. These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts, and only read by older students studying advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"What are you looking for, girl?"

"Er," said Faith. Hermione, Neville, and Ron had agreed they'd better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel, but Faith didn't agree with their reasoning: they didn't want to risk Professor Snape hearing what they were up to. She was sure that Madam Pince could tell her. "I was looking for a biography of Nicolas Flamel, I haven't found any in the recent history section."

Madam Pince snorted. "Well, of course you wouldn't, he's not a part of _recent_ history. I'm afraid I can't help you—there's no biography of Nicholas Flamel, it would take too long to write, he's lived over six hundred years after all. There is a book which describes his work in alchemy, but it was checked out a week ago."

"Can you tell me when it's been returned?" Faith asked, hoping it would be soon.

"Very well—the first time you come to the library after it's been returned, I will let you know."

After thanking her, Faith left the library. She waited outside in the corridor to see if the other two had found anything, but she wasn't very hopeful. They had been looking for two weeks, after all, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a nice long search.

Five minutes later, Hermione, Neville, and Ron joined her, shaking their heads. They went off to lunch.

**XXXX**

"You will keep looking while I'm away, won't you?" said Hermione. "And send me an owl if you find anything."

"And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is," said Ron. "It'd be safe to ask them."

"Very safe, as they're both dentists," said Hermione.

"I could ask Gran—she knows almost everyone," said Neville.

Once the holidays had started, Ron and Faith were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. They had the dormitory to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork—bread, English muffins, marshmallows—and plotting ways of getting Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn't work.

Ron also started teaching Faith wizard chess. This was exactly like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron's set was very old and battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family—in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren't a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted.

Faith played with chessmen Seamus Finnegan had lent her, and they didn't trust her at all. She wasn't a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at her, which was confusing. "Don't send me there, can't you see his knight? Send _him_, we can afford to lose _him_."

On Christmas Eve, Faith went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all. When she woke early in the morning, however, the first thing she saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of her bed.

Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil had gone home for the holidays as well, so Faith was alone in her dorm; the packages could only be for her. She wondered who would send her anything—she'd owl-ordered things for her friends, of course, but she hadn't expected anything in return.

Copper was currently perched on her bed post, all curled up to keep himself warm. Faith picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was To Faith, from Hagrid. Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Faith blew it—it sounded a bit like an owl. She set it aside, determined to go down and see him later and ask him to teach her how to play.

A second, very small parcel contained a note.

_We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia_. Taped to the note was a fifty-pence piece.

"That's friendly," said Faith, crumbling up the note. She'd sent them a letter saying she wouldn't be home for Christmas holidays, she hadn't thought they'd send a response. And a fifty-pence piece was the best gift they'd ever given her, if she didn't have her own money it would've been enough to get a lolly or something from one of the vendors at King's Cross.

A very lump parcel contained a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge. A note inside said it was from Mr. & Mrs. Weasley, for Ron's friend Faith Potter. Said girl raised her eyebrows; why were they sending her a present that had obviously taken a lot of effort to make? They didn't even know her. Still, it was nice of them, she thought, and the fudge was very tasty when she tried it.

Her next present also contained candy—a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione. She grinned; the dentists' daughter, giving her chocolate?

She opened the one which had a note attached saying _From Neville (&Gran)—hope you like it_. It was a little model broomstick and player, dressed in black and white, with a Montrose Magpies poster; Montrose was the team Neville supported, and had convinced Faith to support, too, over Ron's bright orange Chudley Cannons, who were at the bottom of the league. Faith put the poster up on the wall behind her bed with a little Sticking Charm that Hermione had taught her.

The next one was larger and heavier, from Draco, and it contained a large box of mixed sweets from the premier shop in Diagon Alley, as well as a gift voucher for Twilfitt and Tatting's, an upmarket robes shop, which apparently came highly recommended by Draco's mother—_I wouldn't know, I'm not a girl, but you are, I thought you might like to have some nice dress robes or something_, Draco had written. The voucher was enough to buy one set of robes from the fancy shop. Faith raised a brow again; she didn't actually expect Draco, of all people, to give her a present. But she's still grateful.

"I'll have to thank them when they come back."

This left only one parcel. Faith picked it up and felt it. It was very light, and she thought she heard something rattling inside. She unwrapped it.

Something fluid and silvery grey went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. Faith picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material.

"I wonder what kind of cloak _this_ is," she muttered, for it was definitely a cloak; throwing it over her shoulders, she went to see how it looked in the mirror and—_her body had disappeared!_

Faith gasped and dropped the cloak. Immediately her body reappeared, and she gasped again. "It—it must be—an _invisibility cloak_!"

She picked up the cloak again and a slip of parchment fluttered to the floor. She folded the cloak carefully, then seized the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing she had never seen before were the following words:

_Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you_.

_Use it well._

_A Very Merry Christmas to you_.

There was no signature. Faith stared at the note. She felt very strange. Who had sent the cloak? Had it really once belonged to her father?

As she pondered, she accidentally kicked something and it rattled across the floor. She looked down to find another parcel but much smaller. Curious, she slowly picked it up and had a closer look at it: the mauve box is about the size of both her hands combined with a maroon ribbon tied around it. A tag was attached to the ribbon so she read it:

_To our dearest baby girl,_

_-From mommy and daddy_

Her eyes widened at the tag that she almost dropped the box. "From mom and dad?"

Another parchment fluttered to the floor. This time, smaller and it seems to be from the same sender.

_P.S your parents also left you a gift. It was supposed to be for your eleventh birthday, the day you are to be attending Hogwarts._

_Take good care of it._

Before she could say or think anything else, her stomach rumbled and she sighed. "Breakfast time, I suppose," she mumbled. She put the cloak away, in the hidden compartment of her trunk; she didn't want to share it with anyone just yet. Then she pulled on the sweater Mrs. Weasley had sent—she didn't want to seem ungrateful, and it was very comfortable—and headed to the common room with her parent's gift still in her hand.

Fred and George Weasley bounded downstairs, each of them wearing a blue sweater, one with a large yellow F on it, the other a G. Ron followed, looking distinctly unhappy in his maroon one (it clashed terribly with his bright red hair).

"Merry Christmas!"

"Hey, look—Faith's got a Weasley sweater!"

George surveyed her. "Faith's is better than ours, though," he said, pinching the shoulder of the sweater and pulling it up. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."

"What's all this noise?"

Percy Weasley came downstairs as well, looking disapproving. He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carried a lumpy sweater over his arm, which Fred seized.

"P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Faith got one."

"I—don't—want—" said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

"And you're not sitting with the prefects today, either," said George. "Christmas is a time for family."

They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to the side by his sweater.

Faith had never in all her life had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce—and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These fantastic party favors were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toys and flimsy paper hats inside. Faith pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet, and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him.

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his teeth on a silver Sickle embedded in his slice. Faith watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Faith's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided.

'Wow, even the teachers are drunk silly...'

When Faith finally left the table, she was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of non-explodable, luminous balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, and her own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared and Faith had a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mrs. Norris's Christmas dinner.

Faith and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Faith broke in her new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. She suspected she wouldn't have lost so badly if Percy hadn't tried to help her so much.

After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor Tower because they'd stolen his prefect badge.

Ron, noticing the object that Faith had kept in her pocket, pointed it out to her. "Faith, looks like you missed one."

Faith didn't understood what he meant before Ron pulled out the small box, only then she remembered. "Oh, I forgot about that one."

"Aren't you going to open it?"

Faith silently nodded as she fingered the parcel. "...Only I don't know if I want to... It's actually a gift from my mom and dad."

Ron then understood. "I-I see... I didn't mean-"

"It's alright, Ron. I'm already over it." she gave him a reassuring smile before slowly untying the ribbon. Popping open the lid, the two saw what was inside: lying neatly on the white cushion is a chain choker with a circular violet gem pendant that looks like a dragon's eye.

"Wow, now that looks wicked." Ron commented as Faith took the jewelry out of the box. Helping her put it on, the choker sat snugly on her collarbone, the eye gleaming in the light, as though it might blink at any moment. "You don't find that many Dragon's Eyes nowadays."

**XXXX **

It had been Faith's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been nagging at the back of her mind all day. Not until she climbed into bed was she free to think about it: the Invisibility Cloak, the choker and whoever had sent them.

Faith leaned over the side of her bed and pulled the cloak out from her trunk.

Her father's… this had been her father's. She let the material flow over her hands, smoother than silk, light as air. _Use it well_, the note had said.

She had to try it, now. She slipped out of bed and wrapped the cloak around herself. Looking down at her legs, she saw only moonlight and shadows. It was a very funny feeling.

_Use it well_.

Suddenly, Faith felt wide-awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to her in this cloak. Excitement flooded through her as she stood there in the dark and silence. She could go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch would never know.

She crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room, and climbed through the portrait hole.

"Who's there?" squawked the Fat Lady. Faith said nothing. She walked quickly down the corridor.

Where should she go? She stopped, her heart racing, and thought. She knew that there was nothing to be had on Nicholas Flamel in the library—except—Madam Pince hadn't said that, had she? She'd only said that the only book which mentioned his alchemic work had been checked out…The Restricted Section in the library. She'd be able to read as long as she liked, as long as it took for her to find out who Flamel really was. She set off, drawing the Invisibility Cloak tight around her as she walked.

The library was pitch-black and very eerie. But with her night-vision, she could see the area very well as if it was of broad daylight. By now, she was sure her eyes are glowing blue but she didn't notice her dragon eye necklace was also glowing.

The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Stepping carefully over the rope that separated these books from the rest of the library, she looked up to the books to read the titles.

They didn't tell her much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelled words in languages Faith couldn't understand. Some had no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Faith's neck prickled. Maybe she was imagining it, maybe not, but she thought a faint whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn't be.

She had to start somewhere. She decided to look along the bottom shelf for a book with a title she could read. A large black and silver volume caught her eye—_The Olde Waye: Druides and Wytches on Myrddin's Path_. She pulled it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on her knee, let it fall open.

A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence—the book was screaming! Faith snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and on, one high, unbroken, earsplitting note. She stumbled backward and knocked onto the adjacent shelf. Panicking, she heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside—stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, she ran for it. She passed Filch in the doorway; Filch's pale, wild eyes looked straight through her, and Faith slipped under Filch's outstretched arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book's shrieks still ringing in her ears.

She came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor She had been so busy getting away from the library, she hadn't paid attention to wear she was going. There was a suit of armor near the kitchens, she knew, but she must be five floors above there.

"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library—Restricted Section."

Faith felt the blood drain out of her face. Wherever she was, Filch must know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice, was getting nearer, and to her horror, it was Professor Snape who replied, "The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them."

Faith stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Professor Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn't see her, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they'd knock right into her—the cloak didn't stop her from being solid.

She backed away as quietly as she could. A door stood ajar to her left. It was her only hope. She squeezed through it, holding her breath, trying not to move it, and to her relief she managed to get inside the room without their noticing anything. They walked straight past, and Faith leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before she noticed anything about the room she had hidden in.

It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket—but propped against the wall facing her was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the wary onlookers as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_.

Her panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Professor Snape, Faith moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to figure out the inscription. _It's on a mirror…maybe it's backwards…Ishow no tyo urfac ebu tyo urhe arts desire…I show…not…your…face…but your…hearts desire…_

"I show not your face but your heart's desire," she whispered, then stepped in front of it and looked.

She had to clap her hands to her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She whirled around. Her heart was founding far more furiously than when the book had screamed—for she had seen not only herself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind her.

But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, she turned slowly back to the mirror.

There she was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind her, were at least ten others. Faith looked over her shoulder—but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible—

_Your heart's desire_, she realized. It didn't show her, it didn't reflect invisible people—it showed her what she most desperately desired.

She looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind her reflection was smiling at her and waving. Faith felt the air around her, just in case—but she felt nothing—the others existed only in the mirror.

She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes—_her eyes are just like mine_, Faith thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green—exactly the same shape, but then Faith noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy.

Faith was so close to the mirror now that her nose was nearly touching that of her reflection.

"Mom?" she whispered. "Dad?"

They just looked at her, smiling. And slowly, Faith looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like hers, other noses like hers, even a little old man who looked as though he had Faith's knobbly knees—Faith was looking at her family, for the first time in her life. She stared at the image of her parents for a little longer before noticing that there were other people standing beside her. She saw Hermione holding a book to her chest and smiling, Ron waving enthusiastically, Neville grinning shyly, Draco with his arms crossed and grinning, Fred and George smirking, her Quidditch team mates her classmates waving and she even saw the school staff nodding at her.

She laughed as she realized she saw her family and her friends in the mirror. She saw love and acceptance.

The Potters smiled and waved at Faith and she stared hungrily back at them, tears spilling out of her eyes, her hands pressed flat against the glass as though she was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. She had a powerful kind of ache inside her; half joy, half terrible sadness.

It was then the dragon eye started to glow a bright violet and a deep voice spoke next to her ear. _Do not be fooled. _

The words seem to snap her out of her daze.

How long she stood there, she didn't know. The reflections did not fade and she looked and looked until a distant noise brought her back to her senses. She couldn't stay here, she had to find a way back to bed. She tore her eyes away from her mother's face, whispered, "I'll come back," and hurried from the room.

**XXXX**

The next morning at breakfast, Faith couldn't eat. She had seen her parents and would be seeing them again tonight—what did anything else matter? She had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn't seem very important anymore. Who cared what the three-headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if someone stole it, really?

"Are you all right?" said Ron. "You look odd."

Faith told him about the invisibility cloak she'd gotten and her adventure of the night before, talking over his exclamation of jealous surprise. She didn't want to share her parents, so she pretended not to remember where the mirror was.

"Oh well," said Ron, shrugging. "Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating anything?"

"It's nothing." she said. "Ron, last night you said that Dragon's eyes are rare, right? Why is that so?"

"Don't know. I just heard from my mom. They say that the Dragon's Eye is made by taking the eyes of a dragon and mixing it with other minerals. But it's just a myth. What, with dragons being protected species. People say that the gem holds many magical properties and protects the wearer from any harm but it's just a rumor. Nobody has ever own one, nobody I know, that is."

She nodded and bit onto her bacon.

Faith didn't remember the exact route she'd taken back from the mirror room—she retraced her steps from the library for nearly an hour, wandering the dark passageways. Her feet, well insulated in her trainers though they were, became numb with cold.

She passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction, but saw no one else. Just as Faith started wishing to go back to the Tower—she was _cold_—she spotted the suit of armor.

"It's here—just here—yes!" Faith pushed the door open and then closed behind her, not caring about being quiet in the excitement of finding it again. She dropped her cloak and ran to the mirror.

There they were. Her mother and father beamed at the sight of her. One of her grandfathers nodded happily. There was nothing to stop her from staying here all night with her family. Nothing at all.

Except—

"What do you see in the mirror that makes you so happy, Faith?"

Faith jumped and swirled around. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Albus Dumbledore. Faith was sure he wasn't there when she fled into the room.

"I–I didn't see you, sir."

Dumbledore smiled. "That's because I didn't want you to." He slipped off the desk and walked towards Faith. "So, you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

Faith nodded. "I see my family and my friends loving me and accepting me."

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "I expect you've realized what it does?"

"It shows us what we desire the most." Faith whispered, looking back at her parents she never knew.

"Yes," said Dumbledore quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family and have never felt accepted by your relatives, see the people who care about you standing around you. This is an innocent image but this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor the truth. Many have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. You are one of the lucky few who already have what they see in the mirror, Faith. You have close friends who like you for who you are, and your parents loved you very much."

Faith smiled sadly and looked longingly at the reflection of her parents.

Dumbledore patted her head sympathetically. "The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Faith. I ask you not to go looking for it. You shouldn't think of what could have been but what can be."

Faith nodded. "I know, sir."

Dumbledore smiled. "Now, why don't you go back to your dorm? It is getting pretty late."

"Sir – Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."

Faith smiled at that. "What do you see when you look in the Mirror?"

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

Faith gave him a curious look. "Socks, sir?"

"One can never have enough socks," explained Dumbledore. "I always hope I get some at Christmas, but people insist on giving me books."

Faith smiled. "I'll remember that, Professor."

As she walked back to the Tower, carefully avoiding Filch and any other patrolling people, she wondered what Dumbledore really saw in the Mirror.


	13. Nicolas Flamel

~Chapter 13: Nicolas Flamel~

* * *

Ever since Professor Dumbledore had asked Faith not to visit the mirror, for the rest of the Christmas holidays, she spent at least an hour a night exploring. Once, she found a secret passageway, the one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that Fred and George had found in _their_ first year—but halfway through it there was pile-up of dirt and stone from an old cave-in that she couldn't get over, and she dismissed the tunnel as not worth the effort. Faith wished she could forget what she'd seen in the mirror as easily, but she couldn't. She started having nightmares. Over and over again, she dreamed about her parents disappearing in a flash of green light, while a high voice cackled with laughter.

Faith hadn't told Ron that she'd gone back to see the mirror a second night, but when she told him of the nightmares, he thought—rightly so—that the mirror was the cause. "That mirror could drive anyone mad, I think," he said in a rare moment of wisdom, "showing only what you most desire—wouldn't anyone want to stay and look in it forever?"

Hermione, who came back the day before term started, took a different view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Faith being out of bed, roaming the school almost every night ("If Filch had caught you!"), and disappointment that she hadn't at least found out who Nicolas Flamel was. Though she became ecstatic about Faith's new necklace.

They had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a library book, even though Faith was still sure she'd read the name somewhere. Whenever she asked, Madam Pince told Faith that the book was still checked out. Once term had started, they were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Faith had even less time than the other two, because Quidditch had started again.

Wood was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his spirits. The Weasleys complained that Wood was becoming a fanatic, but Faith was on Wood's side. If they won their next match, against Hufflepuff, they would overtake Slytherin in the House Championship for the first time in seven years. Quite apart from wanting to win, Faith found that she had fewer nightmares when she was tired out after training.

Then, during one particularly wet and muddy practice session, Wood gave the team a bit of bad news. He'd just gotten very angry with the Weasleys, who kept dive-bombing each other and pretending to fall off their brooms.

"Will you stop messing around!" he yelled. "That's exactly the sort of thing that'll lose us the match! Snape's refereeing this time, and he'll be looking for any excuse to knock points of Gryffindor!"

George Weasley really did fall off his broom at these words.

"_Snape's_ refereeing?" he spluttered through a mouthful of mud. "When's he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going to be fair if we might overtake Slytherin."

The rest of the team landed next to George to complain, too.

"It's not _my_ fault," said Wood. "We've just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us."

The rest of the team hung back to talk to one another as usual at the end of practice, and Faith talked a bit with Katie Bell, the only second-year on the team. Then Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, the other Chasers, called Katie over. Faith headed back to the Gryffindor common room, where she found Ron and Hermione playing chess. Chess was the only thing Hermione ever lost at, something Faith and Ron thought was very good for her.

"Don't talk to me for a moment," said Ron when Faith sat down next to him, "I need to concentrate."

Hermione frowned at Faith. "What happened? You took your time coming back."

Faith shrugged. "I talked with Katie for a bit after practice. Oh, and…" Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Faith told the other two about Professor Snape's sudden desire to be a Quidditch referee. "I don't like it, he won't be fair to our team, he hates Gryffindor."

"Hates _Gryffindor_? Faith, he tried to kill you last time you played! Don't play," said Hermione at once.

"Say you're ill," said Ron.

"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggested.

"_Really_ break your leg," said Ron.

"I can't," said Faith. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all. Besides, Madam Pomfrey would fix it in a blink, just like Nev's wrist. Where is he, anyway?"

At that moment, Neville toppled into the common room. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what they recognized at once as the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor Tower.

Everyone fell over laughing except Hermione and Faith. Hermione leapt up and performed the countercurse. His legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling

"What happened?" Hermione asked him, leading him over to sit with Faith and Ron.

"Nott," said Neville shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice on. Crabbe and Goyle were there, too."

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged Neville. "Report him!"

Neville shook his head.

"I don't want more trouble," he mumbled.

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" said Ron. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier."

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Nott's done that already," Neville choked out.

Faith felt in the pocket of her robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the box Hermione had given her for Christmas. She gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.

"You're worth twelve of Nott," Faith said. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Nott? In stinking Slytherin."

Neville's lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog.

"Thanks, Faith... I think I'll go to bed…d'you want the card?"

As Neville walked away, Faith looked at the Famous Wizard card.

"Dumbledore again," she said, "He was the first one I ever—"

She gasped. She stared at the back of the card. Then she looked up at Ron and Hermione.

"_I've found him_!" she whispered. "I've found Flamel! I _told_ you I'd read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here—listen to this: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, _and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel_'!"

Hermione jumped to her feet. She hadn't looked so excited since they'd gotten back the marks for their very first piece of homework.

"Stay there!" she said, and she sprinted up the stairs to their dormitory. Faith and Ron barely had time to exchange mystified looks before she was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms.

"I never thought to look in here!" she whispered excitedly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

Faith frowned suspiciously. _That must be the book Madam Pince told me about_, she thought. "So you're the one who checked it out, Madam Pince recommended it to me, she said that's the only book with a substantial record of Flamel's work in alchemy."

"_Light_?" said Ron, but Hermione told them to be quiet until she'd looked something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself.

At last she found what she was looking for.

"I knew it! I _knew _it!"

"Are we allowed to speak yet?" said Ron grumpily. Hermione ignored him, which made Faith have to swallow a laugh.

"Nicolas Flamel," Hermione whispered dramatically, "is the _only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone_!"

This didn't have quite the effect she'd expected.

"The what?" said Faith and Ron.

"Oh, _honestly_, don't you two read? Look—read that, there."

She pushed the book toward them, and Marly and Ron read:

_The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal._

_There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight)._

"See?" said Hermione, when Faith and Ron had finished. "The dog must be guarding Flamel's Philosopher's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"

"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" said Faith. "_Anyone_ would want it."

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that _Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry_," said Ron. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"

"You'd better go tell Neville and Draco about this," said Faith. "That is, if Neville hasn't fallen asleep yet."

**XXXX**

The next morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, Faith, Neville, and Ron were still discussing what they'd do with a Philosopher's Stone if they had one (and knew how to use it). It wasn't until Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team that Faith remembered about Professor Snape and the coming match.

"I'm going to play," she told the other three. "If I don't, all the Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Professor Snape. I'll show them…it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win."

"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the field," said Hermione.

"Not very reassuring, Hermione." Ron said.

As the match drew nearer, however, Faith became more and more nervous, whatever she told Hermione, Neville, and Ron. The rest of the team wasn't too calm, either. The idea of overtaking Slytherin in the House Championship was wonderful, no one had done it for seven years, but would they be allowed to, with such a biased referee?

Faith didn't know whether she was imagining it or not, but she seemed to keep running into Professor Snape wherever she went. At times, she even wondered whether the Potions Master was following her, or it's just pure coincidence. Potions lessons weren't completely torture; but while Professor Snape didn't outright ignore her, he certainly didn't help her. By contrast, he seemed to be treating every other Gryffindor horribly. Could Professor Snape possibly know they'd found out about the Philosopher's Stone? Faith didn't see how he could, unless Madam Pince had told him—yet she sometimes had the horrible feeling that Professor Snape could read minds.

She had met up with Draco to catch up on their holidays, though it's mostly Faith contributing as Draco never likes to talk about his family, especially his father ("We had a bit of a falling out lately"). She then went on to tell her about her nightly adventures, even to the Mirror of Erised and showed him her parent's gift.

"Mother told me that the Dragon's Eye can protect its wearer from harm, even from hexes or curses." he said.

"Ron said that too, but he said it could also be fake."

"Yes, I agree. You don't see this anymore in any shop. Saying they're illegal."

"Well, fake or not, it's still my precious treasure and I'm not going to just throw it away like it's a piece of junk."

They didn't notice the gem glowing in agreement.

**XXXX**

Faith knew, when they wished her good luck outside the locker rooms the next afternoon, that Neville, Ron, and Hermione were wondering whether they'd ever see her alive again. This wasn't what you'd call comforting. Faith hardly heard a word of Wood's pep talk as she pulled on her Quidditch robes and picked up her Nimbus Two Thousand.

Hermione, Neville, and Ron, meanwhile, had place a place in the stands next to Dean and Seamus, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why they had brought their wands to the match. Little did Faith know that Hermione, Neville, and Ron had been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker Curse. They'd gotten the idea from Nott using it on Neville, and were ready to use it on Professor Snape if he showed any sign of wanting to hurt Faith. Draco doing the same somewhere among them.

"Now, don't forget, it's _Locomotor Mortis_," Hermione muttered as Ron slipped his wand up his sleeve. Neville gripped his tightly, knuckles white.

"I _know_," Ron snapped. "Don't nag."

Back in the locker room, Wood had taken Faith aside.

"Don't want to pressure you, Potter, but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favor Hufflepuff too much."

"The whole school's out there!" said Fred Weasley, peering out the door. "Even—blimey—Dumbledore's come to watch!"

Faith's heart did a somersault.

"_Dumbledore_?" she said, dashing to the door to make sure. Fred was right. There was no mistaking that silver beard.

Faith could have laughed out loud with relief. She was safe. There was simply no way that whoever had cursed her broom last game—whether it was Snape or someone else—could hurt him, they wouldn't dare, not with Dumbledore watching.

"I've never seen Snape look so mean," Ron told Hermione and Neville. "Look—they're off. Ouch!"

Someone had poked Ron in the back of the head. It was Nott.

"Oh, sorry, Weasel, didn't see you there."

Nott grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle.

"Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasel?"

Ron didn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Faith, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch.

"You know how I think they choose people for the Quidditch team?" said Nott loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all. "It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money—you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."

Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Nott.

"I'm worth twelve of you, Nott," he stammered.

Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said, "You tell him, Neville."

"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."

Draco, who appeared quite suddenly, sneered at Nott. "Maybe you should try out, Nott—you've got no _chance_."

Nott looked a bit taken aback.

"Look!" said Hermione suddenly, "Faith—!"

"What? Where?"

Faith had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her mouth, as Faith streaked toward the ground like a bullet.

"You're in luck, Weasel, Potter must have spotted some Galleons on the ground!" said Nott.

Ron snapped. Before Nott knew what was happening, Ron was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help. Draco sighed loudly, then nonchalantly waved his wand and said a spell. The brawling boys fell down, all of them with their legs stuck together.

"There _are_ teachers present," Draco reminded them, and after a moment muttered the counter-curse for Neville and Ron. "Sorry, meant to just get Nott, but then I realized it wouldn't be fair, you two whaling on him without a chance for him to fight back."

"Come on, Faith!" Hermione screamed, leaping onto her seat to watch as Faith sped straight at Snape—she didn't even notice the stare-down between Nott and Draco.

Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches—the next second, Faith had pulled out of the dive, her arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in her hand.

The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.

Faith jumped off her broom, a foot from the ground. She couldn't believe it. She'd done it—the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes. As Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, she saw Professor Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped—then Faith felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see the Hufflepuff Seeker, Cedric Diggory, grinning at her.

"Well done, Potter!" he exclaimed. "That had to be the fastest catch in the history of Hogwarts—I hadn't even spotted it yet. You should think about going professional!"

Faith blushed. "I'm only in first year, still," she protested.

"No, really! I'd bet you my broomstick that by the time your fifth year rolls about, you'll have scouts coming from every team around!"

She shrugged. "Well, maybe…"

**XXXX**

Faith left the locker room alone some time later, to take her Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broom shed She couldn't ever remember feeling happier. She'd really done something to be proud of now—no one could say she was just a famous name any more. The evening air had never smelled so sweet. She walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in her head, which was a happy blur: Gryffindors running to lift her onto their shoulders; Draco, Hermione, Neville, and Ron in the distance, jumping up and down, Ron cheering through a heavy nosebleed.

Faith had reached the shed. She leaned against the wooden door and looked up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun. Gryffindor in the lead. She'd done it, she'd shown Slytherin…shown Snape…

And speaking of Snape…

A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible toward the Forbidden Forest. Faith's victory faded from her mind as she watched. She recognized the figure's prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the forest while everyone else was at dinner—what was going on?

Faith jumped back on her Nimbus Two Thousand and took off. Gliding silently over the castle she saw Snape entering the forest at a run. She followed.

The trees were so thick she couldn't see where Snape had gone. She flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until she heard voices. She glided toward them and landed noiselessly in a towering beech tree.

She climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to her broomstick, trying to see through the leaves.

Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, too. Faith couldn't make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Faith strained to catch what they were saying.

"…d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus…"

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Philosopher's Stone, after all."

Faith leaned forward. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted him.

"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

"B-b-but Severus, I—"

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Snape, taking a step toward him.

"I-I don't know what you—"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

An owl hooted loudly, and Faith nearly fell out of the tree. She steadied herself in time to hear Snape say, "—your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."

"B-but I d-d-don't—"

"Very well," Snape cut in. "We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."

He threw the cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was almost dark now, but Faith could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though he was petrified.

Faith swallowed. After hearing that conversation, it was very hard for her to keep her conviction that Snape wasn't the one after the Stone.

"_Faith_, where have you_ been_?" Hermione squeaked.

"We won! You won! We won!" shouted Ron, thumping Faith on the back. "And I gave Nott a black eye, and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed! Good thing Draco stopped us or Neville would be out cold—talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone's waiting for you in the common room, we're having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens."

"Never mind that now," said Faith breathlessly. "Get Nev—and Draco—let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this…"

She made sure Peeves wasn't inside before shutting the door behind them, then she told them what she'd seen and heard.

"So we were right, it _is_ the Philosopher's Stone, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy—and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus-pocus'—I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark spell that Snape needs to break through—"

"So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" said Hermione in alarm.

"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," said Draco.


	14. Dragonian

~Chapter 14: Dragonian~

* * *

Quirrell, however, must have been braver than they'd thought. In the weeks that followed he did seem to be getting paler and thinner, but it didn't look as though he'd cracked yet.

Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Faith and her friends would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy was still growling inside. Snape was sweeping about in his usual bad temper, which surely meant that that Stone was still safe. Whenever Faith passed Quirrell these days, she gave him an encouraging sort of smile, and Ron had started telling people off for laughing at Quirrell's stutter. Draco had written to his mother and asked for a book on magical traps—they planned to litter the third-floor corridor with them, and key them so only Hagrid could get through to feed Fluffy.

Hermione, however, had more on her mind than the Philosopher's Stone. She had started drawing up study schedules and color coding all her notes. Faith, Neville, and Ron wouldn't have minded, but she kept nagging them to do the same.

"Hermione, the exams are ages away."

"Ten weeks," Hermione snapped. "That's not ages, that's like a second to Nicolas Flamel."

"But we're not six hundred years old," Ron reminded her. "Anyway, what are you studying for, you already know it all."

"What am I studying for? Are you crazy? You realize we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They're very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don't know what's gotten into me."

Unfortunately, the teachers seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Hermione. They piled so much homework on them that the Easter holidays weren't nearly as much fun as the Christmas ones. It was hard to relax with Hermione next to you reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood (Which Faith flinched at) or practicing wand movements. Moaning and yawning, Faith, Neville, and Ron spent most of their free time in the library with her, trying to get through all their extra work. Draco's with them as well, doing the same as Hermione, though not as rushed and panicked.

"I'll never remember this," Ron burst out one afternoon, throwing down his quill and looking longingly out of the library window. It was the first really fine day they'd had in months. The sky was a clear, forget-me-not blue, and there was a feeling in the air of summer coming.

Faith, who was looking up "Dittany" in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, didn't look up until she heard Ron say, "Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?"

Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked very out of place in his moleskin overcoat.

"Jus' lookin'," he said, in a shifty voice that got their interest at once. "An' what're you lot up ter?" He looked suddenly suspicious. "Yer not lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?"

"Oh—" Ron started, but Faith kicked him in the shin and smiled sweetly at Hagrid. Ron yelped and grabbed his leg, glaring at her.

"No, of course not," she said. "Although we did have some things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact."

"'Bout what?" he asked, still suspicious.

"Well," Faith glanced around conspicuously, "it's not exactly private here, is it?"

Hagrid's beetle eyes widened. "Oh, yeah! Listen—come an' see me later, I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind—don' go rabbitin' about it in here, they'll think I've told yeh—"

"See you later, then," said Neville.

Hagrid shuffled off.

"What was he hiding behind his back?" said Hermione thoughtfully.

"Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?" Draco asked.

"I'm going to see what section he was in," said Ron, who'd had enough of working. He came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms and slammed them down on the table.

"_Dragons_!" he whispered. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: _Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide_."

"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon," said Faith, slightly flinching whenever Ron said about dragons. Even after many months, Faith still didn't have the courage to tell her friends hew new heritage. Maybe she might be able to when they visit Hagrid.

"But it's against our laws," said Ron. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden—anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania."

"But there aren't wild dragons in _Britain_?" said Faith.

"Of course there are," said Neville. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Black. A couple of them used to hang around Longbottom Manor, I think they were hoping for handouts."

"The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you," Ron added. "Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make them forget."

"So what on earth's Hagrid up to?" said Draco.

"There's only one way to find out." Faith said.

**XXXX**

When they knocked on the door of the gamekeeper's hut an hour later, they were surprised to see that all the curtains were closed. Hagrid called "Who is it?" before he let them in, and then shut the door quickly behind them.

It was stifling hot inside. Even though it was such a warm day, there was a blazing fire in the grate. Hagrid made them tea and offered them stoat sandwiches, which they refused.

"So—yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?"

"Yes," said Faith. She didn't want to beat around the bush, but coaxing secrets out of people took patience, cunning, and tact. "We were wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Stone—well, apart from Fluffy, he's obviously the best protection of course."

Hagrid frowned at her, but he looked a bit pleased that she thought Fluffy was such a good guardian.

"O' course I can't," he said. "Number one, I don' know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That Stone's here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts—I s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even know abou' Fluffy."

"Those stairs move around a lot, Hagrid," Neville said. "We were running from Filch one night—er—probably shouldn't have said that—"

Hagrid laughed. "Oh, don' worry 'bout it, Neville, I won' tell on yeh. Yer father used ter go out after curfew all the night, an' yours, too, Faith."

Faith perked up; her father had been a troublemaker? _Maybe I ought to keep up the tradition,_ she thought. You know what they say: Like Father, Like Daughter.

"See, Hagrid, you know everything that goes on round here," said Hermione in a warm, flattering voice. Hagrid's beard twitched and they could tell he was smiling. "We only wondered who had _done_ the guarding, really." Hermione went on. "We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you."

Hagrid's chest swelled at these last words. Faith, Neville, Draco and Ron beamed at Hermione.

"Well, I don' s'ppose it could hurt ter tell yeh that…let's see…he borrowed Fluffy from me…then some o' the teachers did enchantments…Professor Sprout—Professor Flitwick—Professor McGonagall—" he ticked them off on his fingers, "Professor Quirrell—an' Dumbledore himself did somethin', o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape."

"_Snape_?"

"Yeah—yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped _protect_ the Stone, he's not about ter steal it."

Faith knew the other three were thinking the same as she was. If Snape had been in on protecting the Stone, it must have been easy to find out how the other teachers had guarded it. He probably knew everything—except, it seemed, Quirrell's spell and how to get past Fluffy.

"You're the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, aren't you, Hagrid?" said Faith anxiously. "And you wouldn't tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?"

"Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore," said Hagrid proudly.

"Well, that's something," Faith muttered to the others. "Hagrid, can we have a window open? I'm boiling."

"Can't, Faith, sorry," said Hagrid. Faith noticed him glancing at the fire. Faith looked at it, too.

"Hagrid—what's _that_?"

But she already knew what it was. In the very heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.

"Ah," said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard, "That's—er…"

"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" said Ron, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg. "It must've cost you a fortune."

"Won it," said Hagrid. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

"Hagrid," said Draco, a strange look on his face. "Doesn't it seem strange that someone just happened to have a dragon's egg? What did he look like?"

"Well, no," said Hagrid. "Yeh get all sorts in the Hog's Head—that's one o' the pubs down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up."

Faith got a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, catching on to what Draco meant.

"What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?"

"Mighta come up," said Hagrid, frowning as he tried to remember. "Yeah…he asked what I did, an' I told him I was gamekeeper here…He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after…so I told him…an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon…an' then…I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks…let's see…yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted…but he had ter be sure I could hand;e it, he didn' want it ter go ter any old home…so I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy…"

"And did he—did he seem interested in Fluffy?" Faith asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Well—yeah—how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep—"

Hagrid suddenly looked horrified.

"Blimey—I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" he blurted out. "Forget I said it!"

The five traded looks, and Hermione changed the subject back to the dragon. "What are you going to do with it once it's hatched?"

"Well, I've bin doin' some readin'," said Hagrid, looking relieved as he pulled a large book from under his pillow. "Got this outta the library—_Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit_—it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on 'em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' see here—how ter recognize diff'rent eggs—what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them."

He looked very pleased with himself, but Hermione didn't.

"Hagrid, you live in a _wooden house_," she said.

But Hagrid wasn't listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire. Faith thought she heard a small voice in the fire—"_warm—yum—warm_—" but then she shook her head; fires didn't _talk_.

So now they had something else to worry about: what might happen to Hagrid if anyone found out he was hiding an illegal dragon in his hut?

"I don't think we have to worry about the Stone as long as Dumbledore is here," said Hermione, "Even You-Know-Who was afraid of him, nobody can stand against him."

Faith nodded. "Yeah, and besides, we've got to help him with that dragon first…if we tell Dumbledore about the Stone, then he'll have to go talk to Hagrid about Fluffy, and then he'll find out about the dragon…"

"Wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life," Ron sighed.

**XXXX**

Evening after evening they struggled through all the extra homework they were getting. Hermione had now started making study schedules for Faith, Neville, and Ron, too. It was driving them nuts, even Neville, who was usually very appreciative of her efforts.

Then, one breakfast time, Copper brought Faith another note from Hagrid. He had written only two words: _It's hatching_.

Ron wanted to skip Herbology and go straight down to the hut. Hermione and Neville wouldn't hear of it.

"C'mon, Neville, Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?"

"I want to go, but I don't want to skip Herbology," said Neville.

"We've got lessons, we'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing—" Hermione began.

"Shut up!" Faith whispered.

Pansy Parkinson, the pug-faced Slytherin, was only a few feet away and she had stopped dead to listen. How much had she heard? Faith didn't like the look on Parkinson's face at all.

Ron and Hermione argued all the way down to Herbology and in the end, Hermione agreed to run down to Hagrid's with the other three during morning break. When the bell sounded from the castle at the end of their lesson, the four of them dropped their trowels at once and hurried through the grounds to the edge of the forest. Hagrid greeted them, looking flushed and excited.

"It's nearly out." He ushered them inside.

The egg was lying on the table. There were deep cracks in it. Something was moving inside; a funny clicking noise was coming from it.

They all drew their chairs up to the table and watched with bated breath.

All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped onto the table. It wasn't exactly pretty; Marly thought it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body, it had a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes.

It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout.

"Isn't he _beautiful_?" Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.

"Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!" said Hagrid.

"Hagrid," said Hermione, "how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?"

Hagrid was about to answer when the colour suddenly drained from his face—he leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

"What's the matter?"

"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains—it's a kid, no, two of 'em—they're runnin' back up ter the school."

Faith bolted to the door and looked out. Even at a distance, there was no mistaking them.

Nott and Parkinson had seen the dragon.

Something about the smile lurking on Nott's face during the next week made Faith, Neville, Hermione, and Ron very nervous. They spent most of their free time in Hagrid's darkened hut, trying to reason with him.

"Just let him go," Faith urged. "Set him free."

"I can't," said Hagrid. "He's too little. He'd die."

They looked at the dragon. It had grown three times in length in just a week. Smoke kept furling out of its nostrils. Hagrid hadn't been doing his gamekeeping duties because the dragon was keeping him too busy. There were empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor.

"I've decided to call him Norbert," said Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. "He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mommy?"

The dragon's head turned in Hagrid's direction, and it said in a quite clearly feminine voice, "Mummy!"

Faith's eyes widened. "Hagrid! You didn't say he could talk! How long has he been talking?"

"You've lost your marbles," Ron muttered.

Hagrid looked puzzled. "He ain't talkin'—wish 'e could, though, that'd be great, wouldn't it Norbert?"

"Mummy!" The dragon waddled over to Hagrid and bit his hand in what Faith thought to be an affectionate action.

"But—he just said—he just called you Mummy," she said. She addressed Norbert directly, "Didn't you? Do you know how to speak?"

The dragon's head whipped around to stare at her. Everyone else was staring at her, too, their faces pale.

"Speak!" Norbert demanded. "Hungry! Food!"

"See, he's hungry," Marly said, looking back up. "Didn't you hear him? He's speaking English."

"No, he's not," said Hermione.

"You're a _parseltongue_," Ron said, looking horrified. "Only Dark wizards are parseltongues!"

"The last one was _You-Know-Who_," said Neville.

"What?" Faith said, blank. Then she remembered—parseltongue meant she could speak to snakes. "But—Norbert's not a snake—"

"He's a Norwegian Ridgeback," said Hagrid, "they're rare, them, maybe this is why."

"I've got to look it up," said Hermione.

"Hungry!" the dragon repeated impatiently.

"He's hungry, anyway," said Faith. "Give it two weeks and Norbert's going to be as long as your house, Hagrid. Parkinson and Nott could go to Dumbledore at any moment."

Hagrid bit his lip.

"I—I know I can't keep him forever, but I can't jus' dump him, can't."

"Charlie," Ron said suddenly. "He'll know what we can do with Norbert…he's on a dragon reserve. Charlie can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!"

"Brilliant!" said Faith. "How about it, Hagrid?"

And in the end, Hagrid agreed that they could send an owl to Charlie to ask him.

It was then Faith realized she hadn't told them her secret so she decided now would be a good time. "Guys, there's something I want you to know."

They're currently inside Hagrid's hut with Draco and Norbert sleeping peacefully (thank goodness). Hagrid was making tea while her friends sat around, talking on how are they going to get rid of the dragon without anyone noticing when their attentions were directed to her.

She heaved a sigh. "Remember the troll incident back in Halloween? Where Professor McGonagall wanted to speak with me? There's another part... that I didn't tell you." Taking another deep breath. "I found out that I'm... a Dragonian."

A loud clank resonated in the small hut as Hagrid accidentally dropped the kettle he was holding.

"Dragonian? Are you serious, Faith?" Hermione asked. "They're nothing but myth and legends. They're not real."

"Aye, I wouldn' be too sure. Since 'er mother was also one." Hagrid said, picking up the kettle. "Saved by a nomadic Dragonian tribe, they gave her a bit of their blood after she had suffere' severe injuries from fightin' You-Know-Who back in her days."

"So what? Faith's half-dragon?" asked Ron. Said girl nodded. "Sweet! Can you really change into a dragon?"

This perked Faith's interest since she didn't asked neither Dumbledore nor McGonagall on the subject anymore. "I'm not sure since I didn't go about testing my abilities. But I can try."

"Wait, Faith!" Hermione said. "Are you sure you want to change in here?"

Getting what she meant, Faith lightly blushed in embarrassment. "Oops."

"Not to worry, lass. Dragonians do change into dragons but they differ from each other." Hagrid explained. "Try it out, Faith."

Faith nodded as she stood in the most spacious spot in the hut. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself slowly changing. When she opened her eyes, she found herself almost 15 feet tall.

"Whoa!" Ron exclaimed. "Faith, you've turned into a dragon!"

Faith then looked over her new body: a slim equine-like body with a fairly long neck and feathery black wings, a long skinny tail ending with a silvery spear-like point. Her head is shaped like a horse except slimmer. Her friends can see that her once greenish-blue eyes had changed into sky-blues with her necklace still intact around her neck.

"Only thing is... what kind of dragon are you?" Hermione said. "I've never seen anything like you before."

"Me neither. And I've seen tons of dragons." Neville said.

"That's because she ain't no ordinary dragon." Hagrid said. "She's an Onyx Nightingale. Supposedly went extinct in the late 1800's."

"Nightingale? That's a cute name for a dragon."

"That's because they're docile creatures and tends to avoid conflict and violence. But I read that they're also one of the most powerful, second to the Ukrainian Ironbelly." Draco said.

"Well, at least we found out what I am." Faith said. Norbert, after being awaken by the ruckus, suddenly bounded towards her and starting pestering her to play. "And that dragons aren't exactly hostile towards one another."

"Maybe that's why you can understand what Norbert is saying!" Hermione said. "Because you're a Dragonian."

"Maybe, Hermione. But I get the feeling there's more to it."

**XXXX**

In the library that afternoon, Faith found Hermione researching dragons instead of studying (for once).

"What have you found?" Faith asked.

"Not much," said Hermione, flipping the book she was reading to a certain page and pushing it toward Faith. "Dragons are a class five magical creature, not many people do research on them. But see—look—there's a mention here, the Norwegian Ridgeback, the Hungarian Horntail, and the Peruvian Vipertooth are all grouped together, they're closely related to snakes. I wonder if you could understand them, too?"

"Who knows," said Faith. "No way to try it, anyway, I doubt I'll meet another dragon again."

_Although_, she thought, _working on a dragon reserve sounds a lot more appealing now_.

The following week dragged by. Wednesday night found Hermione, Neville, and Faith sitting alone in the common room, long after everyone else had gone to bed. The clock on the wall had just chimed midnight when the portrait hole burst open. Ron appeared out of nowhere as he pulled off Faith's Invisibility Cloak. He had been down at Hagrid's hut, helping him feed Norbert, who was now eating dead rats by the crate.

"It bit me!" he said, showing them his hand, which was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief. "I'm not going to be able to hold a quill for a week. I tell you, that dragon's the most horrible animal I've ever met, but the way Hagrid goes on about it, you'd think it was a fluffy little bunny rabbit. When it bit me he told me off for frightening it. And when I left, he was singing it a lullaby."

"You'd better go see Madam Pomfrey about that, Ron, dragon bites can be really bad," said Neville. "She won't tell, she's taken the oaths."

Ron shrugged. "It's not that bad—I'll go tomorrow."

There was a tap on the dark window.

"It's Copper!" said Faith, hurrying to let her in. "He'll have Charlie's answer!"

The four of them put their heads together to read the note.

_Dear Ron,_

_How are you? Thanks for the letter—I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon._

_Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark._

_Send me an answer as soon as possible._

_Love,_

_Charlie_

They looked at one another.

"We've got the Invisibility Cloak," said Faith. "It shouldn't be too difficult—I think the cloak's big enough to cover two of us and Norbert."

It was a mark of how bad the last week had been that the other three agreed with her. Anything to get rid of Norbert—and Nott.

There was a hitch. By the next morning, Ron's bitten hand had swollen to twice its usual size. He hesitated going to Madam Pomfrey, though—would she recognize a dragon bite? By the afternoon, though, he had no choice. The cut had turned a nasty shade of green. It looked as if Norbert's fangs were venomous.

Faith, Neville, and Hermione rushed up to the hospital wing at the end of the day to find Ron in a terrible state in bed.

"It's not just my hand," he whispered, "although that feels like it's about to fall off. Nott told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of my books so he could come and have a good laugh at me. He kept threatening to tell her what really bit me—I've told her that it was one of the Snapping Geraniums, but I don't think she believes me—I shouldn't have hit him at the Quidditch match, that's why he's doing this."

Faith, Neville, and Hermione tried to calm Ron down.

"It'll all be over at midnight on Saturday," said Hermione, but this didn't soothe Ron at all. On the contrary, he sat bolt upright and broke into a sweat.

"Midnight on Saturday!" he said in a hoarse voice. "Oh no—oh no—I've just remembered—Charlie's letter was in that book Nott took, he's going to know we're getting rid of Norbert."

The other three didn't get a chance to answer. Madam Pomfrey came over at that moment and made them leave, saying Ron needed to sleep.

"It's too late to change the plan now," Faith told Hermione and Neville. "We haven't got time to send Charlie another owl, and this could be our only chance to get rid of Norbert. We'll have to risk it. And we _have_ got the Invisibility Cloak, Nott doesn't know about that."

"I'll try to keep watch on him," Neville said bravely.

They found Fang the boarhound sitting outside with a bandaged tail when they went to tell Hagrid, who opened a window to talk to them.

"I won't let you in," he puffed. "Norbert's at a tricky stage—nothin' I can't handle."

When they told him about Charlie's letter, his eyes filled with tears, although that might have been because Norbert had just bitten him on the leg.

"Play, Mummy," the dragon whined. "Hungry—Mummy—play!"

"Aargh! It's all right, he only got my boot—jus' playin'—he's only a baby, after all."

"He's hungry," Faith told Hagrid.

The baby banged its tail on the wall, making the windows rattle. The three of them walked back to the castle feeling Saturday couldn't come quickly enough.

They would have felt sorry for Hagrid when the time came for him to say good-bye to Norbert if they hadn't been so worried about what they had to do. It was a very dark, cloudy night, and they were a bit late arriving at Hagrid's hut because they'd had to wait for Peeves to get out of their way in the entrance hall, where he'd been playing tennis against the wall.

Hagrid had Norbert packed and ready in a large crate.

"He's got lots o' rats an' some brandy fer the journey," said Hagrid in a muffled voice. "An' I've packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely."

From inside the crate came ripping noises that sounded to Faith as though the teddy was having its head torn off.

"Bye-bye, Norbert!" Hagrid sobbed, as Faith and Hermione covered the crate with the Invisibility Cloak and stepped underneath it themselves. "Mummy will never forget you!"

Norbert stopped ripping up the teddy bear. "Mummy? Where go? Dark! Dark, Mummy!" he whined. "Dark!"

Faith winced. "He's going to miss you, Hagrid," she said, then to Hermione, "I hope he doesn't wake the whole castle."

How they managed to get the crate back up to the castle, they never knew. Midnight ticked nearer as they heaved Norbert up the marble staircase in the entrance hall and along the dark corridors. Up another staircase, then another—even one of Faith's shortcuts didn't make the work much easier.

"Nearly there!" Faith panted as they reached the corridor beneath the tallest tower.

Then a sudden movement ahead of them made them almost drop the crate. Forgetting that they were already invisible, they shrank into the shadows, staring at the dark outlines of two people grappling with each other ten feet away. A lamp flared.

Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and a hair net, had Nott and Parkinson by the ears.

"Detention!" she shouted. "And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how _dare_ you—"

"You don't understand, Professor. Marlene Potter's coming—she's got a dragon!"

"Twenty points _each_! What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on—I shall tell Professor Snape about you two!"

The steep spiral staircase up to the top of the tower seemed the easiest thing in the world after that. Not until they'd stepped out into the cold night air did they throw off the cloak, glad to be able to breathe properly again. Hermione did a sort of jog.

"Nott and Parkinson got detention! I could sing!"

"Don't," Faith advised her.

Chuckling about the unfortunate Slytherins, they waited, Norbert thrashing about in his crate and whining pitifully for Hagrid. About ten minutes later, four broomsticks came swooping down out of the darkness.

Charlie's friends were a cheery lot. They showed Faith and Hermione the harness they'd rigged up, so they could suspend Norbert between them. They all helped buckle Norbert safely into it and then Faith and Hermione shook hands with the others and thanked them very much.

At last, Norbert was going…going…_gone_.

They slipped back down the spiral staircase. This time, Faith decided to try one of her dragon abilities she discovered just two nights ago. After making sure Hermione is secure on her back with the Invisibility Cloak on, Faith imagined herself turning invisible herself before taking off the tower. The feeling of flying was incredible; it wasn't like how she flew on her broom, the feeling of the wind blowing onto her face, her wings beating steadily.

Not wanting to get side-tracked, Faith turned to their Gryffindor Tower. Making sure their roommates are asleep, Hermione climbed through the window before Faith climbed through after changing back. The two girls quickly changed into their sleepwear and slept, happy to be rid of Norbert.


	15. The Forbidden Forest

Chapter 15: The Forbidden Forest

* * *

The following weeks were spent studying for the exams, they hadn't had time to talk to Hagrid again. They figured that Hagrid would need some time to gather his thoughts of Norbert since he practically raised it as his own child.

Although Faith's time was spent studying for the exams, she hadn't forgotten about Professor Snape, Quirrell and the Stone.

Hermione had reassured her that some of the teachers and Professor Dumbledore himself had put up various protections to protect the Stone. And after Faith replayed the overheard conversation between Professor Snape and Quirrell in her head, she decided that it didn't matter which one of her Professors wanted to steal the Stone. They both didn't know how to get past Fluffy. She still wished she could know for sure that her Potions Professor wasn't evil. Faith sighed.

"See? Even Faith is tired of studying." Ron exclaimed triumphantly. "Come on, Hermione. We've already revised a lot today. Let's take a break and go out. The weather is brilliant outside."

Hermione gave Ron a disapproving look. But Neville nodded and said, "Really, Hermione. Studying too long isn't good for us either. We should go visit Hagrid, I wonder how's he faring."

The two boys started packing their bags and Hermione couldn't help but give in, muttering about lazy boys under her breath. Faith grinned at her. "They have been really studious these last few weeks, and you know that being studious isn't in their nature. Don't be too hard on them."

Hagrid greeted them enthusiastically, and Faith was relieved that there wasn't any awkwardness between them.

"Hey Hagrid, how have you been?"

"Great, great. Still a bit lonely after Norbert left but fine."

"We are so glad to hear that. We've been worrying about you, you know. But we figured that if we didn't hear anything from you, it wouldn't be serious." Hermione said.

Hagrid nodded. "I've been busy investigating somethin'; I found one dead unicorn last Wednesday and there's another unicorn in the Forest hurt badly by summat."

"A dead unicorn and an injured one?" Hermione asked shocked.

Hagrid frowned and nodded. "Would you kids mind if yer help me out a bit?"

XXXX

When the sun set for the day, Hagrid had asked McGonagall to borrow Faith and her friends for an errand which she approved while she focused on punishing Parkinson and Nott who were given the task on cleaning the trophy room. He led them to the very edge of the forest. Holding his lamp up high, he pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. A light breeze lifted their hair as they looked into the forest.

"Look there," said Hagrid, "see that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery."

"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" said Neville, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

"There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang," said Hagrid. "An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've been staggerin' around since last night at least."

"Alright." Faith said.

"So me, Neville, Faith, an' Draco'll go one way an' Ron, Hermione an' Fang'll go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an' practice now—that's it—an' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh—so, be careful—let's go."

The forest was black and silent. A little way into it they reached a fork in the earth path, and Hagrid's group took the left path while Ron, Hermione, and Fang took the right.

They walked in silence, their eyes on the ground. Every now and then a ray of moonlight through the branches above lit a spot of silver-blue blood on the fallen leaves.

Faith saw that Hagrid looked very worried.

"_Could_ a werewolf be killing the unicorns?" Faith asked.

"Not fast enough," said Hagrid. "It's not easy ter catch a unicorn, they're powerful magic creatures. I never knew one ter be hurt before."

They walked past a mossy tree stump. Faith could hear running water, there must be a stream somewhere close by. There were still spots of unicorn blood here and there along the winding path.

"You all right, Draco, Neville?" Hagrid whispered. "Don' worry, it can't've gone far if it's this badly hurt, an' then we'll be able ter—GET BEHIND THAT TREE!"

Hagrid seized Faith and Draco and hoisted them off the path behind a towering oak, and Neville scrambled to follow, whimpering slightly. He pulled out an arrow and fitted it into his crossbow, raising it, ready to fire. The four of them listened. Something was slithering over dead leaves nearby: it sounded like a cloak trailing along the ground. Hagrid was squinting up the dark path, but after a few seconds, the sound faded away.

"I knew it," he murmured. "There's summat in here that shouldn' be."

"A werewolf?" Neville asked.

"It's not the full moon 'til next week, Neville. That wasn' no werewolf an' it wasn' no unicorn, neither," said Hagrid grimly. "Right, follow me, but careful, now."

They walked more slowly, ears straining for the faintest sound. Suddenly, in a clearing ahead, something definitely moved.

"Who's there?" Hagrid called. "Show yerself—I'm armed!"

And into the clearing came—was it a man, or a horse? To the waist, a man, with red hair and beard, but below that was a horse's gleaming chestnut body with a long, reddish tail. Faith and Draco's jaws dropped, and Neville swallowed silently.

"Oh, it's you, Ronan," said Hagrid in relief. "How are yeh?"

He walked forward and shook the centaur's hand.

"Good evening to you, Hagrid," said Ronan. He had a deep, sorrowful voice. "Were you going to shoot me?"

"Can't be too careful, Ronan," said Hagrid, patting his crossbow. "There's summat bad loose in this forest. This is Faith Potter, Draco Malfoy, an' Neville Longbottom, by the way. Students up at the school. An' this is Ronan, you two. He's a centaur."

"We'd noticed," said Draco faintly.

"Good evening," said Ronan. "Students, are you? And do you learn much, up at the school?"

"Erm—"

"A bit," said Neville timidly.

"A bit. Well, that's something." Ronan sighed. He flung back his head and stared at the sky. "Mars is bright tonight."

"Yeah," said Hagrid, glancing up, too. "Listen, I'm glad we've run into yeh, Ronan, 'cause there's a unicorn bin hurt—you seen anythin'?"

Ronan didn't answer immediately. He stared unblinkingly upward, then sighed again.

"Always the innocent are the first victims," he said. "So it has been for ages past, so it is now."

"Yeah," said Hagrid, "but have yeh seen anythin', Ronan? Anythin' unusual?"

"Mars is bright tonight," Ronan repeated, while Hagrid watched him impatiently. "Unusually bright."

"Yeah, but I was meanin' anythin' unusual a bit nearer home," said Hagrid. "So yeh haven't noticed anythin' strange?"

Yet again, Ronan took a while to answer. At last, he said, "The forest hides many secrets."

A movement in the trees behind Ronan made Hagrid raise his bow again, but it was only a second centaur, black-haired and -bodied and wilder-looking than Ronan.

"Hullo, Bane," said Hagrid. "All right?"

"Good evening, Hagrid, I hope you are well?"

"Well enough. Look, I've jus' bin askin' Ronan, you seen anythin' odd in here lately? There's a unicorn bin injured—would yeh know anythin' about it?"

Bane walked over to stand next to Ronan. He looked skyward.

"Mars is bright tonight," he said simply.

"We've heard," said Hagrid grumpily. "Well, if either of you do see anythin', let me know, won't yeh? We'll be off, then."

Faith, Draco, and Neville followed him out of the clearing, staring over their shoulders at Ronan and Bane until the trees blocked their view.

"Never," said Hagrid irritably, "try an' get a straight answer out of a centaur. Ruddy stargazers. Not interested in anythin' closer'n the moon."

"Are there many of _them_ in there?" asked Faith.

"Oh, a fair few…Keep themselves to themselves mostly, but they're good enough about turnin' up if ever I want a word. They're deep, mind, centaurs…they know things…jus' don' let on much."

"D'you think that was a centaur we heard earlier?"

"Did that sound like hooves to you? Nah, if yeh ask me, that was what's bin killin' the unicorns—never heard anythin' like it before."

They walked on through the dense, dark trees. Faith kept looking nervously over her shoulder. She had the nasty feeling they were being watched. She was very glad they had Hagrid and his crossbow with them. They passed a bend in the path and the blood started coming in smaller patches—it looked as though it was drying up. They went a bit further and found a clearing where there had clearly been a scuffle; the ground was all trampled and torn up and there were deep gouges in the trees. There was a spray of dried unicorn's blood to one side.

"Look's like we found the start o' the trail," said Hagrid grimly. "Look around a bit, will yeh? See if yeh can find anythin'."

Neville stuck close to Hagrid, only poking around in the bushes a bit, but Faith made Draco come with her to the other side of the clearing, where there was less evidence of battle. She brushed aside a large fern to find a trail of broken plants, but no blood.

"I've found something, Hagrid," she called. "I don't know what…but something was here, see, look at all these trampled plants."

Hagrid came over, Neville tagging along, and squatted down to peer at the ground. "Yer right 'bout that, Faith. Summat small…smaller than a unicorn, at least." He lifted his crossbow and followed the broken plants cautiously, Draco, Faith, and Neville creeping behind him with their wands out.

"Oh!" Hagrid exclaimed suddenly, and lowered his crossbow. "Come here, help me with 'er, I can't reach in there."

They had reached a vast old stump, with the rest of the tree mostly rotted away behind it. It looked as though it had been struck by lightning and splintered. There was a small gap between the stump and the ground, and inside was a small, dirty animal. Faith came closer, dropping on her hands and knees to get a closer look.

It was a baby unicorn.

"Nev—Draco—you've got to see this," she said in a hushed voice, putting her wand away and crawling toward the young foal. Underneath all the dirt, it looked golden; Faith wondered why, she'd always thought that unicorns were white.

"She looks hungry," said Faith, also on her hands and knees. "Hagrid, do you have anything?"

"I have some apples—wait a minute, I'll find summat—" Hagrid rummaged around in his moleskin overcoat, withdrawing a lot of junk (some gobstones, a torn Famous Wizards card, a mess that could have been some chewing gum) before finally pulling out a handful of small, unbruised apples. "'Ere, Faith, try this."

The girl took an apple, and managed to coax the foal out of its hidey-hole to eat it. Then Hagrid gave Neville his crossbow (he staggered under the weight) and scooped up the unicorn gently. Once it was cradled in one arm, he took the crossbow back.

"Right, let's go, we've gotta get ter its mother soon," said Hagrid, and they hurried back to the path. They followed the silvery blood of the unicorn for more than half an hour when suddenly there was a terrible scream from further ahead.

"AAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

They hastened their steps, nearly running now but for the roots that kept trying to trip them up. Fang came bolting out of nowhere, yelping fearfully, his tail between his legs; a moment later Ron, and Hermione appeared also, looking terrified.

"Back there—" Ron puffed. "Back there—the unicorn—it's dead. There was something—something—something _drinking_ from it, drinking its blood!"

Hermione looked awed at the baby unicorn in Hagrid's arm. "Is that its baby? Is it an orphan now?"

"Prob'ly," said Hagrid regretfully. "Wish I'd bin faster—maybe her mother wouldn't be dead. Come on, let's go, now I know where she is I can bury her meself tomorrow."

They had stopped moving when Ron and Hermione appeared. They started walking again now, heading back towards Hogwarts.

Neville, however, was not quiet; he walked in between Hermione and Faith and whispered to them. "Do you know what unicorn blood is used for?"

"No," said Faith, startled by the odd question. "Why would I? We only use the horn and tail hair in Potions."

"That's because it's a cursed thing, to kill a unicorn," said Neville. "Only someone who had nothing to lose would do it. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive even if you're an inch from death, but only a half-life, a cursed life, from the first drop of blood."

Faith stared at Neville.

"But who'd be that desperate?" she wondered. "If you're going to be cursed forever, death's better, isn't it?"

"Yeah," agreed Hermione, "unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else—something that will bring you back to full strength and power. Something that will mean you can never die." She was very pale.

"The Elixir of Life," whispered Faith. "Of course. But who would—"

"Someone who's waited many years to return to power," said Neville with fear in his voice. "Someone who's clung to life, awaiting his chance…"

It was as though an iron fist had clenched suddenly around Faith's heart. Over the rustling of the trees, she seemed to hear once more what Hagrid had told her on the night they had met: "Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die."

"Do you mean," Faith croaked, "that was _Vol—_"

"Right, here we are," said Hagrid cheerfully, and Faith blinked, surprised to see the edge of the forest and Hogwarts just a bit further, a few windows brightly lit. "I'll take care of this little 'un, you all go on back to Hogwarts and to bed."

**XXXX**

Faith couldn't sit down. She paced up and down in front of the fire. She was still shaking.

"Snape wants the Stone for Voldemort…and Voldemort's waiting in the forest…and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich…"

"Stop saying the name!" said Ron in a terrified whisper, as if he thought Voldemort could hear them, and Neville nodded fervently in agreement.

Faith wasn't listening.

"I've got to look up what Mars means…the centaurs said that Mars was bright tonight, it's got to mean something…it must show that Voldemort's coming back…"

"_Will you stop saying the name_!" Ron hissed.

"So all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone," Faith went on feverishly, "then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off…"

Hermione looked very frightened, but she had a word of comfort.

"Faith, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic."

The sky had turned light before they stopped talking. They went to bed exhausted, their throats sore, but when Faith went to sleep, she dreamt again of a bright flash of green light and a high, cruel laugh—and this time, there was silvery unicorn blood dripping from something.


	16. Through the Trapdoor

Chapter 16: Through the Trapdoor

* * *

In years to come, Faith would never quite remember how she managed to get through her exams when she half expected Voldemort to come bursting through the door at any moment. Yet the days crept by, and there could be no doubt that Fluffy was still alive and well behind the locked door.

It was sweltering hot, especially in the large classroom where they did their written papers. They had been given special, new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an Anti-Cheating spell.

They had practical exams, as well. Professor Flitwick called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk. Professor McGonagall watched them turn a mouse into a snuffbox—points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, but taken away it if had whiskers. Snape made them all nervous, breathing down their necks while they tried to remember how to make a Forgetfulness potion.

Faith did the best she could, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in her forehead, which had been bothering her ever since her trip into the forest. Lavender thought Faith had a bad case of exam nerves because Faith couldn't sleep, but the truth was that Faith kept being woken by her old nightmare, except that it was now worse than ever because of the dripping blood.

Maybe it was because they hadn't seen whatever Ron and Hermione had seen in the forest, or because they didn't have scars burning on their temples, but Neville, Ron, Draco, and Hermione didn't seem as worried about the Stone as Faith. The idea of Voldemort certainly scared them—although Draco seemed to feel some reverence for him, passed down by his father—but Voldemort didn't keep visiting them in dreams, and they were so busy with their studying they didn't have much time to fret about what anyone might be up to.

Their very last exam was History of Magic. One hour of answering questions about batty old wizards who'd inventing self-stirring cauldrons and they'd be free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam results came out. When the ghost of Professor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, Faith couldn't help cheering with the rest.

"That was far easier than I thought it would be," said Hermione as they joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds. "I needn't have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."

Hermione always liked to go through their exam papers afterward, but Ron said this made him feel ill, so they wandered down to the lake and flopped under a tree. The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were tickling the tentacles of a giant squid, which was basking in the warm shallows.

It didn't take long for Neville and Draco to join them, divested of all books and parchment.

"No more studying," Neville sighed happily, stretching out on the grass.

"You could look more cheerful, Faith, we've got a week before we find out how badly we've done," said Ron. "There's no need to worry yet."

Faith was rubbing her temple.

"I wish I knew what this _means_!" she burst out angrily. "My scar keeps hurting—it's happened before, but never like this." It had throbbed a few times in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and she'd assumed it had something to do with the book of Dark Arts that Quirrell kept on display on top of his desk.

"Go to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione suggested.

"That's what anyone _sane_ would do," murmured Draco.

"I'm not ill," said Faith. "I think it's a warning…it means danger's coming…"

Ron couldn't get worked up, it was too hot.

"Faith, relax, Hermione's right, the Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around."

Faith nodded, but she couldn't shake off a lurking feeling that there was something she'd forgotten to do, something important. When she tried to explain this, Hermione said, "That's just the exams. I woke up last night and was halfway through my Transfiguration notes before I remembered we'd done that one."

Faith was quite sure the unsettled feeling didn't have anything to do with work, though. She watched an owl flutter toward the school across the bright blue sky, a note clamped in its mouth. Hagrid was the only one who ever sent him letters. Hagrid, who had gotten a dragon from a stranger in a pub…

Faith suddenly jumped to her feet.

"Where're you going?" said Ron sleepily.

"Norbert... hooded stranger... Fluffy," whispered Faith. She had turned white. "We've got to go and see Dumbledore, now. I mean—it's not just Snape, or whoever, anymore. It's Voldemort that's involved." She had already walked a few paces before she stopped. "No, he wouldn't believe it. But if we don't hurry, the stone might already be-"

"Faith!" multiple voices spoke in unison, stopping Faith in mid-step of her pacing.

"What's gotten into you?" Draco said.

"Remember what Hagrid told us on how he got Norbert from some hooded stranger?" Faith reminded them.

"Yeah, he said he got the egg from the guy in a pub somewhere." Neville said. "I seem to remember that they played a game and talked about things."

Hermione's mind seem to click. "Wait, didn't he said they talked about Hogwarts and Fluffy?"

"Yeah, he said that he told the guy that Fluffy's a piece o' cake if you know how to calm him down, just play him a bit of music and... he'll go to..." Ron trailed off at the last part.

Faith nodded at that. "If that's true... the Stone wouldn't be safe here anymore."

"But Dumbledore-"

"He wouldn't believe us. Besides, he left the school a few hours ago." Hermione said. "Saying that the ministry wanted help or something."

Ron mumbled under his breath. "Of all times to call for help..."

"This is it, then, isn't it?" Faith said.

The other four stared at her. She was pale and her eyes were glittering.

"I'm going out of here tonight and I'm going to try and get to the Stone first."

"You're mad!" said Draco.

"You can't!" said Hermione. "What if someone sees you, like Filch?! You'll be expelled!"

"No, I agree with Faith," said Neville, in a rare show of bravery. "Don't you understand? If Snape gets hold of the Stone—_You-Know-Who_ comes back!"

"Haven't you heard what it was like when he was trying to take over?" Faith said. "There won't be any Hogwarts to get expelled from! He'll flatten it, or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts! Losing points doesn't matter anymore, can't you see? D'you think he'll leave you and your families alone if Gryffindor wins the House Cup? If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I'll have to go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to find me there, it's only dying a bit later than I would have, because I'm never going over to the Dark Side! I'm going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing you say is going to stop me! Voldemort killed my parents, remember?"

She glared at them.

"You're right, Faith," said Hermione in a small voice.

"I'll use the Invisibility Cloak," said Faith. "I've used it enough at night—I know some secret passages that should help, too."

"But will it cover all five of us?" said Ron.

"All—all five of us?"

"Oh, come off it, you don't think we'd let you go alone?"

"Well, I thought Nev might come, but you three seemed so against the idea."

"Of course not," said Hermione briskly. "How do you think you'd get to the Stone without us? I'd better go and look through my books, there might be something useful…"

"But if we get caught, you guys will be expelled, too."

"Not if I can help it," said Hermione grimly. "Flitwick told me in secret that I got a hundred and twelve percent on his exam. They're not throwing me out after that."

They nodded and headed back inside before waiting for night to fall.

**XXXX**

"If Fluffy's already knocked out by the time we get there—one of us should go to the owlery and write a letter to Dumbledore telling him to come back at once," advised Neville.

After dinner, the four of them sat nervously apart in the common room. Nobody bothered them; none of the Gryffindors had anything to say to Faith any more, after all. This was the first night she hadn't been upset by it. Hermione was skimming through all her notes, hoping to come across one of the enchantments they were about to try to break. Faith, Neville, and Ron didn't talk much. The three of them were thinking about what they were about to do,

Slowly, the room emptied as people drifted off to bed.

"Better get the cloak," Ron muttered, as Lee Jordan finally left, stretching and yawning. Faith ran upstairs to their dark dormitory. She pulled out the cloak and then her eyes fell on the flute Hagrid had given her for Christmas. She pocketed it to use on Fluffy, in case anyone of them had to go off to the owlery right away.

She ran back down to the common room.

"We'd better put the cloak on here, and make sure it covers all four of us—if Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its own—"

"Good idea," said Ron. They hurriedly tossed the cloak on and Faith groaned; their feet were clearly visible.

"Maybe—maybe three of us can go, then Marly can come back for the fourth one," said Neville. "Or one of us will have to stay behind…"

"Or I can go ahead with the cloak and make sure it's clear for you guys," said Faith. "I'll make some sparks if it's clear." She looked at the grandfather clock by the door; they couldn't afford to waste any more time. Snape—or whoever, she still had a niggling doubt that it was Snape—might even now be playing Fluffy to sleep.

"That's an idea," said Hermione. "Let's go, then, and everyone be as quiet as you can!"

Faith hurried ahead of the others down every corridor, and only once made them wait, when Mrs. Norris stood guard at the foot of the first set of stairs. But she threw a crumpled-up piece of parchment down a side corridor and waited until the cat had whisked away—presumably to get Filch—before shooting sparks to get the others to follow her.

They didn't meet anyone else until they reached the staircase up to the third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip.

"Who's there?" he said suddenly as Faith climbed toward him. He narrowed his wicked black eyes. "Know you're there, even if I can't see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?"

He rose up in the air and floated there, squinting at them.

"Should call Filch, I should, if something's a-creeping around unseen."

Faith had a sudden idea.

"Peeves," she said, in her hoarsest whisper, "the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible." Which was true.

Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock. He caught himself in time and hovered about a foot off the stairs.

"So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, sir," he said greasily. "My mistake, my mistake—I didn't see you—of course I didn't, you're invisible—forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir."

"I have business here, Peeves," croaked Faith. "Stay away from this place tonight."

"I will, sir, I most certainly will," said Peeves, rising up in the air again. "Hope your business goes well, Baron, I'll not bother you."

And he scooted off.

"_Brilliant_, Faith!" Ron whispered, once they had caught up to her.

A few seconds later, and they were there, outside the third-floor corridor—and the door was already ajar.

Filch lay crumpled unconscious on the floor just outside. Neville whimpered.

"Well, there you are," Hermione said quietly. "He's already got past Fluffy."

"But where's Draco?" Faith asked.

Her answer came when Ron made a squeak and had jumped a foot into the air. They turned around, expecting to see a teacher but instead...

"Draco! Don't do that!" Ron hissed at the pale blonde who had his hands up.

"Sorry but it took me quite a while to get out of the common room." he explained before seeing the unconscious Filch on the floor. "So much for security measures."

Seeing the motionless body and the open door somehow seemed to impress upon all of them what was facing them. Pulling the cloak off, Faith turned to the other four.

"If you want to go back, I won't blame you," she said. "You can take the cloak, I won't need it now."

"Don't be stupid," said Ron.

"We're coming," said Hermione.

"Besides, you can't do this alone." said Draco.

"Especially if it's really You-Know-Who." said Neville.

Faith nodded before turning to the door. Steeling herself, she pushed the door open.

As the door creaked, low, rumbling growls met their ears. All three of the dog's noses sniffed madly in their direction.

"What's that at its feet?" Hermione whispered.

"Looks like a harp," said Ron. "Snape must have left it there."

"It must wake up the moment you stop playing," said Faith. "Well, here goes…"

She put Hagrid's flute up to her lips and blew, trying out a simple tune Hagrid had taught her. She wasn't very good, but from the first note the beast's eyes began to droop. Faith hardly drew breath. Slowly, the dog's growls ceased—it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.

"Huh. Well, that was easy." Draco said.

"Keep playing," Ron warned Faith as they crept toward the trapdoor. They could feel the dog's hot, smelly breath as they approached the giant heads.

"I think we'll be able to pull the door open," said Ron, peering over the dog's back. "Want to go first, Hermione?"

"No, I don't!"

"I'll go," Neville said bravely. He gritted his teeth and stepped carefully over the dog's legs. He bent and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and open.

"What can you see?" Hermione said anxiously.

"Nothing—just black—there's no way of climbing down, we'll have to drop. Can you make a light?"

"Sure." She whispered a spell and bright bluebell flames flowed out of her wand and into the dark room below.

"It's a plant—that'll be a soft landing, at least," Neville said. He lowered himself through the hole until he was hanging on by his fingertips. Then he looked up at Ron and said, "See you in a minute, I hope…"

And he let go. There were several moments of silence before—

FLUMP.

"It's okay!" he called. "It's a soft landing, the plant's doing its job…blimey! It's a Devil's Snare! Quick, come down before Hermione's fire makes it back away too far."

Ron followed right away, then Hermione, then Draco and Faith was the last to go. In the few seconds before she dropped through, the dog growled and twitched, but then she was falling down, down through cold, damp air—there was a loud bark—

"Hermione," said Neville in a terrified voice, "make more of those flames! It's starting to grab me! Ron, Draco—stop moving—the more you struggle, the tighter it will grab you."

The plant had started to twist snakelike tendrils around Faith's legs, and it had already bound Ron, Draco and Neville tightly. Hermione leapt up and struggled toward a damp wall.

"Hurry, I can't breathe," Ron gasped, wrestling with it as it curled around his chest.

She whipped out her wand, waved it, muttered something, and more of the bluebell flames poured out at the plant. In a matter of seconds, the three felt it loosening its grip as it cringed away from the light and warmth. Wriggling and flailing, it unraveled itself from their bodies, and they were able to pull free.

"Lucky you know your Herbology, Neville," said Faith as she joined Hermione by the wall, wiping sweat off her face.

"We must be miles under the school," said Draco, peering up at the light the size of a postage stamp, which was the open trapdoor.

"This way," said Faith, pointing down a stone passageway, which was the only way forward.

All they could hear apart from their footsteps was the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls. The passageway sloped downward, and Faith was reminded of Gringotts. With an unpleasant jolt of the heart, she remembered the dragons said to be guarding vaults in the wizards' bank. If they met a dragon, a fully-grown dragon—Norbert had been bad enough, and she could _speak_ to Norbert.

"Can you hear something?" Ron whispered.

Faith listened. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up ahead.

"Do you think it's a ghost?"

"I don't know…sounds like wings to me."

"There's light ahead—I can see something moving."

They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them. It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.

"Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?" said Neville.

"Probably," said Faith. "They don't look very vicious, but I suppose if they all swooped down at once…well, there's no other choice…I'll run."

"No, wait," said Neville. "Hermione—do that flame thing again, see if they react."

Hermione obliged him, sending a jet of bluebell flames at the shiny golden birds. One of them dipped into the fire briefly, and its wings seemed to catch on fire. Then it fell.

"They're not birds!" Faith said suddenly. "They're _keys_! Winged keys—look carefully."

"There's broomsticks over there," said Neville. "We must have to catch the key for the door!"

"It'll be better to just burn them down," said Hermione. She aimed the jet of bluebell flames at the cloud of keys. They caught fire easily, and fell clattering to the floor, wings fluttering madly as they turned to ashes.

Ron ran to the door and looked at the lock closely. "We're looking for a big, old-fashioned key—probably silver, like the handle."

They ran into the midst of the falling keys and beat out the flames, looking for one that would fit the old-fashioned lock of the door. The bewitched keys were quick, however, even with their wings turned to ash, and it was almost impossible to catch one.

Not for nothing, though, was Faith the youngest Seeker in a century. She had a knack for spotting things other people didn't. After a minute's weaving about through the whirl of rainbow feathers, she noticed a large silver key that had a bent wing, as if it had already been caught and stuffed roughly into the keyhole. It was mostly intact still; Hermione's bluebell flames hadn't gotten it.

"That one!" she called to the others. "That big one—there—no, there—with bright blue wings—the feathers are all crumpled on one side."

Ron ran in the direction that Faith was pointing, but two keys struggling together to fly tripped him and he fell. In a twist of good luck, he landed on the one they needed with a nasty crunching noise.

"Got it!" he yelled.

"Great! Let's go!"

They ran to the door, the key struggling in Ron's hand. He rammed it into the lock and turned—it worked. The moment the lock clicked open, the key tried to take flight again, but failed; it was very battered, now that it had been caught—twice—and set on fire.

"Ready?" Faith asked the other four, her hand on the door handle. They nodded. She pulled the door open.

The next chamber was so dark they couldn't see anything at all. But as they stepped into it, light suddenly flooded the room to reveal an astonishing sight.

They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen, which were all taller than they were and carved from what looked like black stone. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the white pieces. Faith, Neville, Draco, Ron, and Hermione shivered slightly—the towering white chessmen had no faces.

"Now what do we do?" Faith whispered.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Ron. "We've got to play our way across the room.

Behind the white pieces they could see another door.

"How?" said Hermione nervously.

"I'm not any good at chess," Neville said fearfully.

"I played some but that was a long time ago." Draco said.

"I think," said Ron, "we're going to have be chessmen."

He walked up to a black knight and put his hand out to touch the knight's horse. At once, the stone sprang to life. The horse pawed the ground and the knight turned his helmeted head to look down at Ron.

"Do we—er—have to join you to get across?"

The black knight nodded. Ron turned to the other four.

"This needs thinking about…" he said. "I suppose we've got to take the place of four of the black pieces…"

Faith and Hermione stayed quiet, watching Ron think. Finally he said, "Now, don't be offended or anything, but neither of you are that good at chess, either—"

"We're not offended," said Faith quickly. "Just tell us what to do."

"Well, Faith, you take the place of that bishop, and Hermione, you go there instead of that castle. Neville, why don't you take the other bishop. Draco, you take the other castle."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to be a knight," said Ron.

The chessmen seemed to have been listening, because at these words a knight, two bishops, and two castles turned their backs on the white pieces and walked off the board, leaving five empty squares that Faith, Ron, Draco, Neville and Hermione took.

"White always plays first in chess," said Ron, peering across the board. "Yes…look…"

A white pawn had moved forward two squares.

Ron started to direct the black pieces. They moved silently wherever he sent them. Faith's knees were trembling. What if they lost?

"Faith—move diagonally four squares to the right."

Their first real shock came when their other knight was taken. The white queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board, where he lay quite still, face-down.

"Had to let that happen," said Ron, looking shaken. "Leaves you free to take that bishop. Hermione, go on."

Every time one of their men was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy. Soon there was a huddle of limp black players slumped along the wall. Twice, Ron only just noticed in time that Faith and Hermione were in danger. He himself darted around the board taking almost as many white pieces as they had lost black ones.

"We're nearly there," he muttered suddenly. "Let me think—let me think…"

The white queen turned her blank face toward him.

"Yes…" said Ron softly, "it's the only way…I've got to be taken."

"NO!" Faith, Draco, Neville, and Hermione shouted.

"That's chess!" snapped Ron. "You've got to make some sacrifices! I make my move and she'll take me—that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Faith!"

"But—"

"Do you want to stop Snape or not?"

"Ron—"

"Look, if you don't hurry up, he'll already have the Stone!"

There was no alternative.

"Ready?" Ron called, his face pale but determined. "Here I go—now, don't hang around once you've won."

He stepped forward, and the white queen pounced. She struck Ron hard across the head with her stone arm, and he crashed to the floor—Hermione screamed and Neville moaned, but they stayed on their squares—the white queen dragged Ron to one side. He looked as if he'd been knocked out.

Shaking, Faith moved three spaces to the left.

The white king took off his crown and threw it at Faith's feet. They had won. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. With one last desperate look back at Ron, the four charged through the door and up the next passageway.

"What if he's—?"

"He'll be all right," said Faith, trying to convince herself. "What do you reckon's next?"

"We've had Sprout's, that was the Devil's Snare; Flitwick must've put charms on the keys; McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them alive; that leaves Quirrell's, and Snape's…"

"Something to do with potions, maybe," said Neville.

"Then what about Quirrell's?" Draco asked. They shrugged.

They had reached another door.

"All right?" Faith whispered.

"Go on."

Faith pushed it open.

A disgusting smell filled their nostrils, making the three of them pull their robes up over their noses. Eyes watering, they saw, flat on the floor in front of them, a troll even larger than the one they had tackled, out cold with a bloody lump on its head.

"I'm glad we didn't have to fight that one," Faith whispered as they stepped carefully over one of its massive legs. "Come on, I can't breathe."

She pulled open the next door, the three of them hardly daring to look at what came next—but there was nothing very frightening in here, just a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.

"Snape's," said Faith. "What do we have to do?"

They stepped over the threshold, and immediately a fire sprang up behind them in the doorway. It wasn't ordinary fire either; it was purple. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward. They were trapped.

"Look!" Hermione seized a roll of paper lying next to the bottles. Faith looked over her shoulder and read it aloud:

_Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,_

_Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,_

_One among us seven will let you move ahead,_

_Another will transport the drinker back instead,_

_Two among our number hold only nettle wine,_

_Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line._

_Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,_

_To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:_

_First, however slyly the poison tries to hide,_

_You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;_

_Second, different are those who stand at either end,_

_But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;_

_Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,_

_Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;_

_Fourth, the second left and the second on the right_

_Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._

Hermione let out a great sigh and Faith, amazed, saw that she was smiling, the very last thing Faith felt like doing.

"_Brilliant_," said Hermione. "This isn't magic—it's logic—a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck in here forever."

"But so will we, won't we?" Neville asked nervously.

"Of course not," said Hermione. "Everything we need is here on this paper. Seven bottles: three are poison. two are wine; one will get us safely through the black fire, and one will get us back through the purple."

"But how do we know which to drink?" said Neville.

"Let me see that." Draco said. Hermione handed the parchment to him.

"You have to admit, he is the best in Potions." Hermione said.

Draco read the paper several times. Then he walked up and down the line of bottles, muttering to himself and pointing at them. At last, he clapped his hands.

"Got it," he said. "The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire—toward the Stone."

Faith looked at the tiny bottle.

"There's only enough for one of us," she said. "That's hardly one swallow."

"Snape's already gotten through," Neville pointed out. "Maybe it refills once someone's gone through the fire."

They looked at each other.

"Which one will get you back through the purple flames?"

Draco pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line.

"I'll go through, and if it refills, Draco, you drink it and follow me," said Faith. "Hermione and Neville, you drink the other one. Get back and get Ron. Grab brooms from the flying-key room, they'll get you out of the trapdoor and past Fluffy—go straight to the owlery and send Copper to Dumbledore, we need him. We might be able to hold Snape off for a while, but we're no match for him, really."

"But Faith—what if You-Know-Who's with him?" asked Neville anxiously.

"Well—I was lucky once, wasn't I?" said Faith, pointing at her scar. "I might get lucky again."

Hermione's lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at Faith and threw her arms around her.

"_Hermione_!"

"Faith—you're a great witch, you know."

"I'm not as good as you," said Faith, very embarrassed, as Neville joined in the hug.

"Me!" said Hermione, letting go. "Books! And cleverness! There are more important things—friendship and bravery and—"

"Be _careful_!" Neville said, gripping his wand with shaking fingers.

"You drink first, Nev," said Faith. "You are sure which is which, aren't you, Draco?"

"Positive," said Draco. Neville took a long drink from the round bottle at the end, and shuddered.

"It's not poison?" said Faith anxiously.

"No—but it's like ice."

"Quick, go, before it wears off."

"Good luck—take care—"

"GO!"

Neville turned and walked straight through the purple fire. When the potion refilled, Hermione followed after him.

Faith took a deep breath and picked up the smallest bottle. She turned to face the black flames.

"Wait." Faith turned to Draco as she was about to drink the potion. "There's something I want to tell you. If we managed to get out of this alive, that is."

Faith chuckled before resting a hand on his shoulder. "We are getting out alive. All of us."

Draco nodded, patting her hand.

"Here I go," she said, and she drained the little bottle in one gulp.

It was indeed as though ice was flooding her body. She put the bottle down and walked forward; she braced herself, saw the black flames licking her body, but couldn't feel them—for a moment she could see nothing but dark fire—then she was on the other side, in the last chamber.

There was already someone there—but it wasn't Snape. It wasn't even Voldemort.


	17. The Man with Two Faces

Chapter 18: The Man with Two Faces

* * *

It was Quirrell.

"_You_!" gasped Faith. She felt a mighty surge of relief—she _knew_ it wasn't Snape!

Quirrell smiled. His face wasn't twitching at all.

"Me," he said calmly. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Ms. Potter, after seeing your little friend waiting for me."

"They thought it was Snape," said Faith. "But—"

"Severus?" Quirrell laughed, and it wasn't his usual quivering treble, either, but cold and sharp. "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

Faith couldn't take it in. This couldn't be true, it couldn't.

"But—at that Quidditch match—"

"No, no, no," said Quirrell with an air of condescension. "It wasn't _Snape_ trying to kill you. _I _was. Your friend, Ms. Granger, accidentally knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to him. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I'd have got you off that broom. I'd have managed it before then if Snape hadn't been muttering a counter-curse, trying to save you."

Draco's voice echoed loudly. "Snape was trying to _save _her?"

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy," said Quirrell coolly. "Of course. Why do you think he wanted to referee your next match? He was trying to make sure I didn't do it again. Funny, really…he needn't have bothered. I couldn't do anything with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, he _did_ make himself unpopular…and what a waste of time, when after all that, I'm going to kill you tonight. Oh, you too, I suppose, Mr. Malfoy. Pity though, your whole family would have wanted you to be better."

Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Faith and Draco, who exchanged terrified glances.

"You're too nosy to live, Potter, Malfoy. Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."

"_You_ let the troll in?"

"Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls—you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off—and not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three-headed dog didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly.

"Now, wait quietly, Potter, Malfoy. I need to examine this interesting mirror."

It was only then that Faith realized what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised. How did it got here and why she didn't see it before was beyond her.

"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this…but he's in London…I'll be far away by the time he gets back…"

All Faith could think of doing was to keep Quirrell talking and stop him from concentrating on the mirror, or on Draco; she could hear the other first-year whispering an incantation behind her.

"I saw you and Snape in the forest—" she blurted out.

"Yes," said Quirrell idly, walking around the mirror to look at the back. "He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I'd got. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me—as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side…"

Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it.

"I see the Stone…I'm presenting it to my master…but where is it?"

Faith inched backwards towards Draco, barely managing to stay on her feet; she struggled against the ropes binding her, but they didn't give. She _had_ to keep Quirrell from giving his whole attention to the mirror.

"But Snape always seemed to look at me weird…"

"Oh, he _hates_ you," said Quirrell casually, "heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you _dead_."

"But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing—I thought Snape was threatening you."

For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face.

"Sometimes," he said, "I find it hard to follow my master's instructions—he is a great wizard and I am weak—"

"You mean he was there in the classroom with you?" Faith gasped.

"He is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell quietly. "I met him when I traveled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it…Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me." Quirrell shivered suddenly. "He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me…decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me…"

Quirrell's voice trailed away. Faith was remembering her trip to Diagon Alley—how could she have been so stupid? She'd _seen _Quirrell there that very day, shaken hands with him in the Leaky Cauldron.

Quirrell cursed under his breath.

"I don't understand…is the Stone _inside_ the mirror? Should I break it?"

Faith's mind was racing.

_What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment,_ she thought, _is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it—which means I'll see where it's hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realizing what I'm up to?_

"_Faith_," she heard Draco whisper behind her. "_I've burned the ropes around me…I'm going to take your cloak and go around. Keep distracting him!"_

Quirrell was still talking to himself. "What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

And to Faith's horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

"Use the girl…Use the girl…"

Quirrell rounded on Faith.

"Yes—Potter—come here."

He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Faith fell off.

"Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Faith walked toward him.

_I must lie,_ she thought desperately. _I must look and pretend to see my parents—I must lie about what I see, that's all._

Quirrell moved close behind her. Faith breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from his turban. She closed her eyes, stepped in front of the mirror, and opened them again.

She saw her reflection, pale and scared-looking at first. Her parents were there—looking just as scared. But a moment later, they smiled at her, and her mother pulled out a blood-red stone from her pocket. She winked at Faith and put the Stone in Faith's reflection's pocket—and as she did so, Faith felt something heavy drop into her real pocket. Somehow—incredibly—_she'd gotten the Stone_.

"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"

Faith swallowed, screwing up her courage.

"I see my parents," she said, and decided to describe the scene as much as possible, embellishing it a bit. "They're shaking hands with Dumbledore…Dumbledore has a ruby in one hand…I've won the House Cup for Gryffindor."

Quirrell cursed again.

"Get out of the way," he said. As Faith moved aside, she felt the Philosopher's Stone against her leg. Dare she make a break for it?

But she hadn't walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.

"She lies…she lies…"

"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted. "Tell me the truth! What did you just see?"

"_I'm right behind you,_" said Draco in a low voice.

Faith slowly reached into her pocket.

The high voice spoke again.

"Let me speak to her…face-to-face…"

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough…for this…"

Faith felt as if Devil's Snare was rooting her to the spot, but she managed to grab the Stone, pull it out of her pocket sneakily, and hold it behind her back. A second later, its weight was gone; Draco had taken it.

Petrified, she watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot.

Faith would have screamed, but she couldn't make a sound. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face Faith had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

"Faith Potter…" it whispered.

Draco hitched a breath. Faith couldn't move a muscle.

"See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapor…I have form only when I can share another's body…but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds…Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks...faithful Quirrell has been drinking it for me…and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own…Now…why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

So he knew. The feeling suddenly surged back into Faith's legs. _He may know about the Stone, but he doesn't know Draco has it now…_

She stumbled backward.

"Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Better save your own life and join me…or you'll meet the same end as your parents. They died begging for mercy…"

"LIAR!" Faith shouted, suddenly angry.

Quirrell was walking backward at her, so that Voldemort could still see her. The evil face was now smiling.

"How touching…" it hissed. "I always value bravery…Yes, girl, your parents were brave…I killed your father first, and he put up a courageous fight…but your mother needn't have died…she was trying to protect you. Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."

"NEVER!"

Faith sprang toward the flame door, seeing a flicker in the flames as Draco ran through ahead of her—but Voldemort screamed "SEIZE HER!" and the next second, Faith felt Quirrell's hand close on her wrist. At once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Faith's scar; her head felt as though it was about to split in two; she yelled, struggling with all her might, and to her surprise, Quirrell let go of her. The pain in her head lessened—she looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone, and saw him hunched in pain, looking at his fingers—they were blistering before his eyes.

"Seize her! SEIZE HER!" shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Faith clean off her feet, landing on top of her, both hands around Faith's neck—Faith's scar was almost blinding her with pain, yet she could see Quirrell howling in agony.

"Master, I cannot hold her—my hands—my hands!"

And Quirrell, though pinning Faith to the ground with his knees, let go of her neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms—Faith could see they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny.

"Then kill her, fool, and be done!" screeched Voldemort.

Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Faith, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face—

"AAAAARGH!"

Quirrell rolled off her, his face blistering, too, and then Faith knew: Quirrell couldn't touch her bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain—her only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough pain to stop him from doing a curse.

Or...

Faith jumped to her feet, and closed her eyes. Once she opened them up, she could see Quirrell down below. A sort of energy surged through her body as she opened her mouth before a stream of electricity burst forth. Quirrell screamed as the lightning made contact. Faith then charged at him, doing a full body tackle. A pain in her head caused her to suddenly revert back to her human form but she quickly latched onto Quirrell's arm—the pain in her head was building, she realized—she couldn't see—she could only hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's yells of, "KILL HER! KILL HER!" and other voices, maybe in her own head, crying, "Faith! Faith!"

She felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from her grasp, knew all was lost, and fell into blackness, down…down…down…

**XXXX**

Something gold was glinting just above her. The Snitch! She tried to catch it, but her arms were too heavy.

She blinked. It wasn't the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses. How strange.

She blinked again. The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above her.

"Good afternoon, Faith," said Dumbledore.

Faith stared at him. Then she remembered: "Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! Draco took it but I think he went after him—"

"Calm yourself, dear girl, you are a little behind the times," said Dumbledore. "Quirrell does not have the Stone."

"Then Draco kept it safe? Who does? Sir, I—"

"Faith, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out."

Faith swallowed and looked around herself. She realized she must be in the hospital wing. She was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to her was a table piled high with what looked like half the candy shop.

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Dumbledore, beaming. "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."

"How long have I been in here?"

"Three days. Ms. Granger, Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Ronald Weasley, and Mr. Malfoy will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried."

"But sir, the Stone—"

"I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not realize you gave it to Mr. Malfoy until after he left, and I arrived in time to prevent him from going after him, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say."

"You got there? You got Neville's owl?"

"We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left, however, the Minister is very insistent on certain things…I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you—"

"It was _you_."

"I feared I might be too late."

"You nearly were, I couldn't keep him from going after Draco much longer even if I was in Dragon Mode—"

"Not the Stone, girl, you—the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed."

"Destroyed?" said Faith blankly, feeling warmth at the thought that such a great wizard actually cared about her welfare. "But your friend—Nicolas Flamel—"

"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted. "You _did_ do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat, and agreed it's all for the best."

"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?"

"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die."

Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Faith's face.

"To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, _very_ long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all—the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."

Faith lay there, lost for words. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling.

"Sir?" said Faith. "I've been thinking…Sir—even if the Stone's gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who—"

"Call him Voldemort, Faith. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."

"Yes, sir. Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back, isn't he? I mean, he hasn't gone, has he?"

"No, Faith, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share…not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Faith, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time—and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

Faith nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made her head hurt. Then she said, "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me…things I want to know the truth about…"

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

"Well…Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?"

Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.

"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day…put it from your mind for now, Faith. When you are older…I know you hate to hear this…when you are ready, you will know."

And Faith knew it would be no good to argue.

"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign…to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."

Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill, which gave her time to dry her eyes on the sheet. When she had found her voice again, Faith said, "And the Invisibility Cloak—do you know who sent it to me?"

"Ah—your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you might like it." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Useful things…your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here."

"Then the necklace..."

"That used to be your mother's. It was given by the Dragonian tribe who saved her. Useful trinket, it is. Protected your mother all these years. And now, it's yours."

Faith beamed and nodded. "And there's something else…"

"Fire away."

"Quirrell said Professor Snape—he hated my father, and because of that, he hates me…is that true?"

"Well, they did rather detest each other. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive."

"What?"

"He saved his life."

"_What_?"

"Yes…" said Dumbledore dreamily. "Funny, the way people's minds work, isn't it? He couldn't bear being in your father's debt…I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father's memory in peace…but he's never hated _you_, Faith. Oh, heavens no."

Faith tried to understand this, but it made her head pound, so she stopped.

"And, sir, there's one more thing…"

"Just the one?"

"How did I get the Stone out of the mirror? And how did it get in there in the first place?"

"Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only one who wanted to _find_ the Stone—find it, but not use it—would be able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes. As for how it got into the mirror in the first place—that, my dear girl, is the result of many years' study of Ancient Runes, Transfiguration, and Charms…Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavoured one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them—but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?"

He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, "Alas! Earwax!"

Faith giggled.

**XXXX**

Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was a nice woman, but very strict.

"Just five minutes," Faith pleaded.

"Absolutely not."

"You let Professor Dumbledore in…"

"Well, of course, that was the Headmaster, quite different. You need _rest_."

"I am resting, look, lying down and everything. Oh, go on, Madam Pomfrey… Please." Faith then gave her the puppy-dog eyes.

"Oh, very well," she said. "But five minutes _only_."

And she let Hermione, Neville, Draco, and Ron in.

"_Faith_!"

Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around her again, but Faith was glad Hermione held herself in as her head was still very sore.

"Oh, Faith, we were sure you were going to—Dumbledore was so worried—"

"The whole school's talking about it," said Ron. "What _really_ happened?"

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than the wild rumors. They knew what happened before Draco ran out, but Faith told them everything anyways: Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone; and Voldemort. They were a very good audience, and when Faith told them what was under Quirrell's turban, Neville squeaked, and Hermione looked half-awed, half-terrified.

"So the Stone's gone?" said Ron finally. "Flamel's just going to _die_?"

"That's what I said, but Dumbledore thins that—what was it?—'to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.'"

"I always said he was off his rocker," said Ron, looking quite impressed at how crazy his hero was.

"So what happened to you four?" said Faith.

"Well, I got back all right," said Neville. "I brought Ron and Hermione round and we were dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met him in the entrance hall—he already knew—he just said, 'Faith's gone after him, hasn't she?' and hurtled off to the third floor."

"I met him on the chess board," said Draco. "He seemed really relieved when I gave him the Stone, but he looked really worried still, too."

"D'you think he meant you to do it?" said Ron. "Sending you your father's cloak and everything?"

"_Well_," Hermione exploded, "if he did—I mean to say—that's terrible—you could have been killed."

"No, it isn't," said Faith thoughtfully. "I don't think he meant for me to go down and face him alone—but he's a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, even after he told us the Stone'd be fine, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don't think it was an accident I found out how the mirror worked. It's almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could…"

"Yeah, Dumbledore's off his rocker, all right," said Ron, frowning. "Face You-Know-Who? No offense, Faith, but you're only a _first_ year."

Draco shrugged. "Listen, you've got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and Slytherin won, of course—you missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrollered by Ravenclaw without you—but the food'll be good."

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over.

"You've had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT," she said firmly.

**XXXX**

Faith awoke that night to a dark figure standing over her and stroking her hair. She blinked—

"Professor Snape?"

"Hush, Potter," he murmured, then gave a great sigh. "Why must you get in trouble, Faith Lilian? Just like your mother…too curious for your own good…"

He was watching her with that sad, distant look in his dark eyes again.

"Sir…can you tell me about my mother? I haven't even seen a picture of her before…I've only ever seen her in the mirror…"

Professor Snape's hand froze on her hair before withdrawing. His wand appeared—"_Somnus._"

When Faith woke again, she didn't remember the encounter.

After a good night's sleep, Faith felt nearly back to normal.

"I want to go to the feast," she told Madam Pomfrey as she straightened her many candy boxes. "I can, can't I?"

"Professor Dumbledore says you are to be allowed to go," she said sniffily, as though in her opinion Professor Dumbledore didn't realize how risky feasts could be. "And you have another visitor."

"Oh, good," said Faith. "Who is it?"

Hagrid sidled through the door as she spoke. As usual when he was indoors, Hagrid looked too big to be allowed. He sat down next to Faith, took one look at her, and burst into tears.

"It's—all—my—ruddy—fault!" he sobbed, his face in his hands. "I told the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only thing he didn't know, an' I told him! Yeh could've died! All fer a dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be chucked out an' made ter live as a Muggle!"

"Hagrid!" said Faith, shocked to see Hagrid shaking with grief and remorse, great tears leaking down into his beard. "Hagrid, he'd have found out somehow, this is Voldemort we're talking about, he'd have found out even if you hadn't told him."

"Yeh could've died!" sobbed Hagrid. "An' don' say the name!"

"VOLDEMORT!" Faith bellowed, and Hagrid was so shocked, he stopped crying. "I've met him and I'm calling him by his name. Please cheer up, Hagrid, we saved the Stone, it's gone, he can't use it. Have a Chocolate Frog, I've got loads…"

Hagrid wiped his nose on the back of his hand and said, "That reminds me. I've got yeh a present."

"It's not a stoat sandwich, is it?" said Faith anxiously, and at last Hagrid gave a weak chuckle.

"Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. 'Course, he shoulda sacked me instead—anyway, got yeh this…"

It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Faith opened it curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were his mother and father.

"Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old school friends, askin' fer photos…knew yeh didn' have any…d'yeh like it?"

Faith couldn't speak but gave him a big hug, which Hagrid understood.

**XXXX**

Faith made her way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night. She had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's fussing about, insisting on giving her one last checkup, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Slytherin colors of silver and green to celebrate Slytherin's winning the House Cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.

When Faith walked in there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. She slipped into a seat between Hermione and Neville at the Gryffindor table and tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at her.

Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were…you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts…

"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two points; Gryffindor, with four hundred and two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and thirty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and forty-two."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Faith could see Theodore Nott smirking at her and banging his goblet on the table. It was a sickening sight.

"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes…"

"First—to Mr. Draco Malfoy…"

Draco's cheeks turned pink, and his fellow Ravenclaws clapped him on the back.

"…for bravely standing in the way of Voldemort, I award Ravenclaw House ten points."

The Ravenclaw table broke out into cheers; they had overtaken Slytherin!

"Second—to Mr. Ronald Weasley…"

Ron went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn.

"…for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor House ten points."

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Percy could be heard telling the other prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"

At last there was silence again.

"Third—to Miss Hermione Granger…for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor House ten points."

Hermione buried her face in her arms; Faith strongly suspected she had burst into tears. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside themselves—they were twenty points up.

"Fourth—to Mr. Neville Longbottom…"

Neville turned white with shock—he hadn't earned more than a few points for Gryffindor before, and all of those had been from Sprout in Herbology.

"…for your knowledge of Herbology under pressure, I award Gryffindor House ten points."

_Thirty points up!_ Faith whooped along with most of the table, grinning madly.

"And finally—to Miss Faith Potter…" said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet. "…for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor House fourteen points."

Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Faith, Ron, Hermione, and Neville stood up to yell and cheer as people mobbed them to hug them. Faith, still cheering, nudged Hermione in the ribs and pointed at Draco, who was grinning and cheering just as madly, hoisted on the shoulders of the Ravenclaws around him. Nott, over at the Slytherin table, couldn't have looked more stunned and horrified if he'd just had the Body-Bind Curse put on him.

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even Hufflepuff was celebrating the downfall of Slytherin, "we need a little change of decoration."

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet-and-gold and the silver became blue-and-bronze; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion and Ravenclaw eagle took its place. Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall's, and then Professor Flitwick's, hands with a horrible forced smile. It seemed as though life would be back to normal next year, or as normal as it ever was at Hogwarts.

It was the best evening of Faith's life, better than winning at Quidditch, or Christmas, or knocking out mountain trolls…she would never, ever forget tonight.

Faith had almost forgotten that exam results were still to come, but come they did. To their great surprise, both she and Ron passed with good marks; Hermione, of course, had the best grades of the first years, and Draco came close behind her. Neville's excellent Herbology mark more than made up for his abysmal Potions one. They had hoped that Goyle, who was almost as stupid as he was mean, might be thrown out, but he had passed, too. It was a shame, but as Ron said, you couldn't have everything in life.

Then Faith remembered that Draco had wanted to tell her something after the whole Voldemort fiasco. And boy, what a shocker that was. But still, Faith couldn't help but grin happily.

And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, Neville's toad Trevor was found lurking in a corner of the toilets; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays ("I always hope they'll forget to give us these," said Fred Weasley sadly); Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts Express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Chocolate Frogs as they sped past Muggle towns; pulling off their robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross station.

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn't attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.

"You must come and stay this summer," said Ron, "all of you—I'll send you an owl."

"I'm not sure about you boys, but Faith, you have to come and stay with me, too," said Hermione. When Ron looked insulted, she added, "My parents don't approve of boys staying over."

"Thanks," said Faith, "I'll need something to look forward to. Just come and pick me up whenever…or send me a letter if you can't." She told them her address. "Don't send an owl—my relatives wouldn't like that."

"I don't think my father would approve of me going to your house, Ron," said Draco, looking uncomfortable. Faith was reminded that his father hadn't written him since he'd been Sorted into Ravenclaw.

"My house, then," said Neville. "Gran won't mind, and I think Mr. Malfoy won't care as much if you're at Longbottom Manor than with the Weasleys…"

"I'll send you an owl," Draco agreed.

People jostled them as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the Muggle world. Some of them called:

"Bye, Faith!"

"See you, Potter!"

"Still famous," said Ron, grinning at her.

"Unfortunately," Faith muttered. "And not where I'm going, I promise you."

The five of them passed through the gateway together.

"There she is, Mum, there she is, look!"

It was Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister, pointing at Faith.

"Faith Potter!" she squealed. "Look, Mum! I can see—"

"Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point."

Mrs. Weasley smiled down at them.

"Busy year?" she said.

"Very," said Faith. "Thanks for the fudge and the sweater, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh, it was nothing, dear."

It was a few minutes more before Neville's Gran came to get him—they Apparated away with barely enough time for Neville to say 'good-bye'—and then the Weasleys left. Hermione's parents, both of them looking rather frazzled, came and got her in a Muggle taxi-cab; then a tall, beautiful blonde woman in expensive wizarding robes came and got Draco.

"Your father wants a word with you," Faith heard her say. The woman gave Faith a small smile while Faith nervously bowed to her. Draco said his good-byes before the pair Apparated away.

Faith's relatives hadn't arrived to pick her up, which was good, because she had told them she could make her own way home. She intended to go to Diagon Alley, put all the things she didn't need in her vault, and then go by train back to Surrey. Copper was already perched on her shoulder, attracting lots of looks but she didn't care as she fed him some treats.

Then she would have fun with the Dursleys. _They_ didn't know she wasn't allowed to use magic over the summer, after all. She snickered as she thought of many ways to tease Dudley. Maybe Ron was right; she must have spent way too much time with Fred and George.

* * *

Finally! That's the end of Book 1! But don't worry! Book 2 is coming right away! Stay tuned for '**The Chamber of Secrets**'.


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